Legally Insane
by england-has-swag
Summary: AU. RP edit. Our story takes place in London in the mid 1900s. Arthur, a boy of seventeen, is in an asylum for killing his family in a house fire. The ward is more than a little corrupt. He gets a new doctor, and gets taken advantage of in more ways than one. Warnings inside.
1. Hope

((This fan fiction has serious adult content. Some of the views are hateful, but they do not represent how I, or my RP partner feel. I believe somewhere there is something along the lines of "...we'll see if that fag goes to Hell or not..." My RP partner writes Alfred, and I myself write Arthur. I'm completely open to critique and suggestions. I'll try to update as much as quickly as I can. Reviews are greatly appreciated, and I try to send everyone a PM in response to reviews. Thank you for reading, and have a great day^^ Warnings: Drug use, corrupt hospital, mental illness, mentions of gore and death, gore, eye gouging, manipulation, mentions of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, and mentions of rape. (I'd like to point out that another patient gouges Arthur's eye out.)))

As much as he wanted to, Arthur could no longer tell himself that everything was going to be okay. He'd lied to himself for so long. It didn't seem like it would matter if he carried on with it just a bit longer. Though, he just couldn't do it anymore. He had to stop kidding himself. His life was never going to go back to the way it was. Things didn't just work that way. It's funny how one little, tiny, overlooked detail can fuck up a person's entire life. That had happened to the Brit. For no rhyme or reason, he hadn't seen the daylight in weeks. No reason that he could comprehend, anyway. Maybe it was weeks, but it felt like so much longer. His past seemed as a different lifetime would, and that was what was making him stop the lies. Each day, he would tell himself that everything would be okay. Eventually, things would work out, and he could go back to living life as he had been before this. He was strong, proud even. He could make it through anything. Yesterday, he had stopped talking, though. He sat on the twin bed, its white sheets still smelling of the artificial cotton cleaner. He was surprised the stains had come out. He stared at the floor. It was cold beneath his bare feet. Though, he hadn't worn shoes in such a long time. He was used to it. His head turned towards the door when he heard the door handle turning.

Arthur's reveries were roughly aborted when the harsh sound of an iron key opened the cell door to his tiny room. The door was thrust open and the snow white hair of the head guard's countenance popped out. "Kirkland. Stand up with your hands on the wall; you know the drill." When Arthur did so, Gilbert secured even more restraints on his person than he already had. Now, instead of just shackles binding his wrists together with a thick chain, his ankles were also bound so as to impede any anticipated escape from the patients. It was protocol, not meant to be a punishment per se, but in truth the patients were regarded as less than human, like the other institutionalized collective confined for social norm violations of another sort. With a satisfied shake of the chains to ensure they weren't coming off any time soon, the head guard called Beilschmidt, without ceremony roughly jerked Arthur's chains, causing Arthur to stumble forward, and pushed him outside in front of Beilschmidt so he could keep an eye on the man while he walked. "We're going to see the Doc. You remember the way, right? You're an educated man, or used to be," Beilschmidt's smirk grew around the last sentence. But his following words were angry and resentful. "I don't know why the Doc wants to see you so soon. You should be in the hole for a few days with this silly silent treatment you're giving us. Makes us feel unwelcome, you know." Beilschmidt pushed Arthur forward again when he didn't think he was going fast enough. "Anyway, no choice but to follow this bureaucratic bullshit. I tell ya..." Beilschmidt broke off his remaining words, finding it better to hold his peace in front of so many people, even if they were crazy.

Arthur remained silent throughout the entire exchange. He put up no fight. He didn't have any more fight left in him. Whether it was the drugs they'd been pumping him full of, the constant "treatments" he had to go through, or just simply being in this torturous place for so long, he could not bring himself to fight any longer. He kept his head down as the guard chained his ankles. He was used to seeing the man, and would even snap at him sometimes, but as he'd made the decision to become mute the day before, "pleasant" conversation with the other would have to wait. He let out a soft grunt of pain as his chains were yanked and he was forced forward. He made sure to keep his head down as he walked. He'd already made the mistake of looking up too much. He didn't want to get punished for anything more than not speaking. His breath hitched slightly at the thought of seeing the "doctor." As many excuses he could make for the feeling he felt when he thought of the other man, he could never fully convince himself that he was scared of the Doctor for no reason. Maybe it was paranoia. Then again, that wasn't really why he was here, was it? He breathed a small sigh of relief as the other stopped talking, happy to walk in silence and be alone with his thoughts. It was better than being reminded of the current position he was in. His hair had grown long since he'd been committed, and it was now long enough to cover the nasty burn scar that covered about a third of the left side of his face. That was another reason he made sure to keep his head down. He didn't want people staring at him. It was a constant reminder of a night that he couldn't remember.

They left the patient wing stored for "incorrigible patients" and the entire hospital wing until they were finally in the offices where the employees worked. It was noticeably cleaner and didn't reek like the patients wing, though this hospital was known for being considerably more hygienic than the rest of the institutions. Not one death from cholera or typhoid. Yet. Finally they arrived at an all-too-familiar door, nondescript but the doorknob and placard on the side was brassy and new. Gilbert knocked heartily on the door and after a few seconds a blithe voice called from the other side. "Door's unlocked." The guard opened the door and gave Arthur a mock bow with an extended hand sweeping his side. A handsome man with golden hair and bright blue eyes behind spectacles was sitting behind a great desk scattered with papers, an "organized mess," as he called it, slouched comfortably with a knee propped over the other, regarding the newly-arrived patient. "Mr. Kirkland," he greeted pleasantly, as if he didn't summon the man and he dropped in on his own regard. "Come in," He ticked his head to emphasize his request. "Thanks, Gil. We won't be having any troubles so I don't think we'll need to bother you. Right, Arthur?" Everyone knew about the loaded gun in Dr. Jones's desk, and what a patient do anyway with such restrictions on their mobility? Jones was a very capable man, in more ways than one.

Arthur was almost surprised when he could smell the nearly fresh air in the employee chamber of the hospital. He hadn't been over to this side in a few weeks, since he'd last seen the doctor, and he'd grown used to the strong smell of disinfectant that left a burn in the back of his throat, overpowering the faint, but still detectable smell of blood and stale urine. He wasn't as concerned about his health as he had been the first few days. He'd been putting so many unknown drugs into his system, that he was more worried about that. He tensed as they stopped at the door, but kept his head down as the others engaged in conversation. Though, it was directed toward him. He stayed silent, but shook his head slightly. He remembered the gun. Dr. Jones had an entire conversation with him the first week he'd been here about the gun, and the safety of himself, as well as the patients. At that time, he'd let Arthur get a glance at the weapon. He wasn't worried about escaping anymore. He'd tried that two times, and still would flinch at the thought of attempting another escape after the things that had happened to him because of his little stunts. He slowly made his way into the room, and sat down in the chair in front of the Doctor's desk. He didn't look up. He felt no need to.

Dr. Jones bounded out of the seat the moment the door closed and walked up to it, securing the lock and effectively removing themselves beyond any interference in their little world. Jones turned around and smiled, and he had a gorgeous smile, with immaculate teeth and had the effect of clearing any doubt (and terror) from those whom he directed it to. He dropped the key back in his pocket and resumed his post across the desk from his patient, smile never wavering. "I heard you stopped talking to the nurses at 0830 when you refused to finish your breakfast. Nurse Arlovskaya was only concerned for your health because you've lost so much weight these past few months?" Jones added a lilt to his voice to emphasize his mutual concern. "Why don't you tell me about what happened yesterday? I want to hear your side of the story." Jones wasn't concerned for Arthur's disposition over breakfast as he was fascinated with his new favorite patient's behavior. Out of all the garden varieties of crazies here, Arthur was by far the most fascinating, and ever since his admittance Dr. Jones was immediately taken by the reason for which Arthur was committed, but also the man himself, such a black and brooding creature that Alfred wanted to dissect and exploit throughout the far recesses of his psyche. His job was to "help" his patients into recovery, he was a healer by trade, but he could have fun on the side. Arthur was his new project.

Arthur only tensed further as he heard the click of the lock. He still didn't look up. He didn't see that smile that was supposed to make him feel better. He just continued to stare blankly at the floor, obviously not wanting to be there. It wasn't anything against Dr. Jones. He didn't want to be in any part of the hospital. It didn't matter if it was here, or in the patient ward. It was true that he'd lost weight. He hadn't been eating as much, and had been mostly lying around in his bed staring at the ceiling. He was paler than he had been, with the shadows under his eyes more pronounced than ever. He shook his head slightly, in a refusal to talk. He didn't want to, and he'd been plenty clear about it before. He didn't have a problem with being clear about it again. He honestly wasn't sure if the doctor cared about his well-being or not. He didn't care. As far as he was concerned, nobody in the entire facility gave two shits about him. It was only more evident by the fact that he'd received no wink of concern up until this point. Yes, the nurses seemed concerned, but they weren't part of the interworking of the hospital. They were practically interns. They cared about a sick person in general, not about him as an individual. He shifted uneasily in his seat.

"Hm." Dr. Jones let the silence stretch as he looked on his patient, ankle hooked over a knee and twiddling with his fountain pen. Looked like he needed a different approach. He had no problem getting up from his seat once again even though he put on that show with the door for Arthur earlier. He made himself comfortable half-sitting on the desk right in front of Arthur, and even with his downcast gaze he couldn't avoid seeing the polish of Jones's oxford shoes gleaming up at him. He was quiet for moments longer, letting Arthur familiarize himself with Jones's proximity, before firmly tilting his head up by his chin with the point of his capped fountain pen. "Ah. That's better." Dr. Jones smiled in satisfaction. "You have such a handsome face. Burn notwithstanding." He chuckled at his own joke. The pen must have been uncomfortable pressing against such tender skin. The throat was the most vulnerable part of a human's body, and Dr. Jones made a point of that by jerking his pen up harder than it was necessary.

Arthur had been lost in thought. He was thinking about his family. His dead family. About how he would never see any of them again. He had been thinking about how he would do anything to go back and change what happened that night, or even just remember what had happened. He faintly registered Alfred sitting right in front of him, which made him slightly uncomfortable because the other was invading his personal space, but he felt it wasn't worth complaining about. His eyes widened slightly as his head was tilted up, and he was forced to look at the doctor. He was bothered by the action, but wouldn't have done anything if it hadn't been for the man's remark. No matter how far he'd been gone, he would not let someone joke about something like the scar on his face. The scar only emphasized that his entire family was dead. That he was here. That he murdered them. His breath hitched with the movement of the pen. Even with his limited movement, he was able to snatch the pen from the other, and stand, then loom over him with the pen just slightly too close to his neck to be comfortable. His gaze was hardened into a firm glare, his eyes alight. "Shut your damn mouth," he murmured, nearly shaking with rage.

Alfred yielded easily to Arthur's sudden violent advance; leaning back with Arthur loomed over him. Despite being a man in control of his body, his statement was apparent, but if Arthur thought it was because he was scared he was mistaken. Jones suddenly burst out laughing, gleeful like a kid who just won a prize with no pity for the losers. "You talked!" His laughter rang more quietly as he snatched the pen away after disarming Arthur with his reaction. "I should be more careful leaving sharp things around for people to hurt themselves," he said self-reprimanding, but the humor made it less convincing that he really meant it. Dr. Jones twirled the pen flamboyantly before shoving back into his seat and taking up Arthur's file that sat patiently for him in the middle of his desk. He flipped through it for a quick review, but it was all for show. He knew Arthur's file by heart, pouring over the evaluations self-made and devouring the transfer notes sent with him when he was admitted. "I apologize that we haven't seen each other as much as we should. I have a hundreds of other patients to go through." Alfred rolled his eyes in annoyance. "What a bunch of degenerates. But I have faith in our institution. We've come a long way from the middle Ages. Did you know that you would have been called a witch in the 1600s for saying it wasn't you who killed your own family and burned down the house? Thank god we're not that ignorant anymore." Alfred laughed.

Arthur blinked in slight surprise at the sudden and unexpected laughter. He frowned. He felt as though he'd lost by talking, and realized that the only reason the doctor had said something about his scar was probably to aggravate him enough to speak. He stood there a moment, a glare still present, and as harsh as ever, directed toward the other man. After about a minute, he sat, though this time, his gaze trained toward Alfred, still holding its glare tightly. He made sure to still keep his scar hidden with his hair. He listened carefully to what the other had to say, and then slumped back against the seat slightly. "What a shame. Maybe I would have been stoned to death instead of living in this Hell," he commented, looking far from amused, and completely uninterested. He crossed his legs at his ankles, and the chains on them rattled slightly. Though he was talking, he was far from willing to be nice to the doctor. He breathed out a small sigh of irritation. "What do you want, Jones?" he questioned. He went as informal as possible, by not adding the "Dr." to his last name. He didn't know the other's first name. It was an attempt at an insult, or at least an attempt to be rude.

Dr. Jones gave no pleasure of letting on to Arthur he was perturbed at all by Arthur's blatant and delinquent informality, not lifting his gaze from the files and easily replying back. "Oh, this is just a little spontaneous follow-up on your last appointment. Isn't this room much better than The Hole?" He asked off-handedly. The quiet was disturbed only by the flipping of pages. In truth, by summoning Arthur here, Alfred was breaking protocol. Upon the chief psychiatrist's sudden and unexpected passing and Dr. Jones 'immediate transfer to take his place it was obvious the man cared little for rules and edged of his limitations, incrementally and inexorably pushing his limits without the staff even realizing they were being increasingly lenient until he could finally disrupt rules like disciplinary actions on patients. Even though the hospital was structured on strict regiments, it was also dictated on authoritarian hierarchy, and with no boss to answer to but himself, Alfred decided that since he was here, he might as well enjoy his stay. Unfortunately onto a few *real* residents felt that way.

"I'm taking a lot at your files and I reeeeaaallllyyy don't think you match the bill for a psychopath. Oh, you're crazy all right, and I belief in the judicial system that you were rightfully convicted, but maybe it's just because I have a soft spot for sob stories." Alfred winked. "And I think we have a juicy one here. So tell me!" Dr. Jones sat up straight (for this first time this "session") with his hands folded in front of him. "Tell me about your family. How did they treat you? You were supposed to take over the family business, but that's gone down the drain! I know what it's like to feel pressure from your folks about your future." Alfred barked out laughing.

Arthur stared blankly at the other. He had no idea of the rule breaking. He didn't even know what happened behind the scenes at the hospital. He didn't know about Alfred's near-obsession with him. In truth, he knew so very little. This could be expected. He was left in the dark on many things that went on in the hospital. Arthur felt himself glaring again as the doctor stopped speaking to let him answer the questions. "I stood up before a jury of my peers, and told the truth. I loved my family. I'd never do anything to hurt them, and none of them would've done anything to hurt me. It's just a coincidence that I survived that damn fire." He was wondering when he was allowed to leave. He didn't want to be here anymore. He was already sick of Dr. Jones, and it had only been a few minutes.

"But you were also witnessed moving material filled with gasoline just hours before by the servant- bless her soul she testified to the authorities before passing." Alfred cocked his head to the side like an innocently curious animal. "And you were heard screaming threats at your mother, too. You were saying such terrible things a dutiful son wouldn't say... among other things." Jones didn't elaborate on the last part. That could be left for later.

"Maybe you loved your family, but didn't you hate them, too? Classmates also testified that your behavior and attitude were very _odd_ sometimes at school. What did you do at school to concern them?" Oh, this was one of his favorite parts, when his patients squirmed in discomfort, their contradicting cognitions screaming in conflict with one another to explain the root of their behavior. Alfred idly ran the smooth, cold fountain pen over his lips in anticipation. What would Arthur say? Would he deny it further? Would he justify his actions? Or maybe he would blame someone, something else and cry wolf?

"What did you do at school, Mr. Kirkland?" Alfred clarified.

Arthur was completely tensed. He wanted this to sound wrong to him. To sound like it could never be true. But something sounded right about it. He shook his head, slightly pale. He didn't remember anything, though that didn't mean he hadn't blamed himself. He blamed himself for what happened every day. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. In a way, it was true, but he'd always known that something was wrong in the back of his mind. He'd thought of the only explanation that made sense to him. "The servant hated me. The kids at school hated me. They had no reason not to lie about my behavior."

"What happened at school, Mr. Kirkland?" Alfred insisted in a firmer voice, unwilling to let his patient detract from the subject. This was _his_ office, _his_ hospital, _and, our relationship _is_ parent-child, after all. I need to make sure you know that,_ Alfred thought gleefully. But even through his slightly dominant behavior, Dr. Jones was inexplicably affable, giving off a comforting air that put others at ease (if not slightly disturbing). Dr. Jones said no more, comfortable to let the silence stretch for however long until Arthur was ready to comply.

Arthur glared at him. "I already told you I don't know what you're talking about," he repeated. He shifted uneasily in his chair. He was willing to stay here as long as it took. In his mind, he didn't have a clue what the doctor was saying. His gaze shifted to the floor, and he twiddled his thumbs absentmindedly for something to do aside from sit there in silence. Even after almost an hour, he hadn't said anything further than denying that anything had happened.

The ensuing minutes that seemed to stretch forever wasn't spent in idle silence. After it was obvious Arthur would say no more Dr. Jones leaned closer in his seat scrutinized the young man before him. Arthur's green eyes were ablaze in defiance, but behind them Alfred recognized the hopelessness in his confinement that even the more resilient residents had. No one ever left the hospital. It was a lifetime sentence.

Arthur obviously knew that if he wouldn't cooperate he'd be thrown in the Hole, or worse. It amused Alfred and he wondered how far he could push this boy's limits until his pride broke and he begged on his knees for Alfred's mercy. Alfred's breath hitched at the thought. He hoped Arthur wouldn't break too soon. He wanted to savor the pursuit.

"I believe you," he finally said. Something clicked. "When you were questioned to confirm your peers' testimony that you beat an upperclassman to near death, you also claimed you hadn't done it, but I think *you didn't remember*!" Alfred became animated again, moving his hands this way and that to gesticulate. "You do not remember the episodes at school; you do not remember what happened on the night your family was killed. If your family were here, I dare say there were other things you don't recall, either." He didn't wait for Arthur to confirm (or deny) it. He went on. "For how long has this been happening? Can you remember the first time you were accused for something you didn't do, or didn't remember doing?" Alfred was positively ecstatic at his hypothesis but somehow calmed down to appeal to Arthur. "I bet no one's ever believed you, have they?" Alfred's grin was maniacal. "But I believe you, Mr. Kirkland, and it's me who is going to help you. No one else will help you. No one else cares but me. Do you understand? No one else is on your side. Everyone thinks you carved up your mother and father and little brother like pigs and burned the manor down."

Arthur still had no idea of whatever the doctor was planning. It was correct, though. He knew. He knew that this is where he'd live out his days. He'd tried to escape before, and probably would again, but in the end, deep down, he knew it was utterly hopeless. Eventually, he'd be faced with a choice; live out his days defying, and keeping his pride, or give in, submit, and live better.

His mouth hung agape as those three words were spoken. 'I believe you.' He'd never heard that in his life. Not even from his attorney. Everyone thought he was guilty, even the people who were supposed to be defending him. His mouth stayed open in shock as Alfred stated his theory. Every part of it was one hundred percent accurate. At the words, tears formed in his eyes, blurring his vision slightly. His heart felt as if it was breaking. Dr. Jones was right. Nobody else would help him. Nobody else cared. No one besides the man in front of him was on his side. He felt the tears dripping down his face slowly, and he shakily held his face in his hands. His elbows were resting on his knees. He managed a slow, careful nod. There was a sob stuck in his throat that he refused to let out. Nobody had ever said anything like this to him.

Alfred's victorious grin almost split his face as Arthur's face crumbled into anguish until the boy finally broke. He relished in the helplessness in Arthur's shuttering shoulders and hitching his breath. He would have liked to see tears, but he could wait. He beamed above him proudly, one hand supporting the bulk of his weight as he leaned over his desk with the other fisted on his side. _I think we've had a breakthrough! _Well, he was a genius, after all. He wasn't chief psychiatrist at the best asylum in London at the age of 26 for nothing. Of course, even though everything he said was the truth (which made the pain all the more devastating) the intent behind it was pure bullshit. Jones' design was to break Arthur down into utter dependency on him, Dr. Jones his single lifeline to humanity, reassuring him that Arthur wasn't a freak, a monster. If someone as kind as Dr. Jones could believe in him, he was saved.

He tossed a handkerchief at Arthur's lap before sitting carefully back down. He let Arthur enjoy his emotional purge before sighing. What to do? He didn't want to turn it over on Arthur's head too soon. He'll play the nice doctor for now. Sadly, this process took time. "I think we're done for the day. Let's take some time to reflect on what happened here, and I want you to tell me next time about these blackouts you've had." Dr. Jones cocked his head, regarding Arthur's reaction. "Gil's waiting outside the door. Be a good boy and eat your meals so I can see you again, hm?" He winked and motioned to the door, a wordless gesture that Arthur was to leave.

Arthur felt completely and utterly crushed. He already felt a slight dependency towards the doctor. After all, this was the only one who had ever believed him. He was making small, choked sounds from crying, but was careful not to start sobbing. He wasn't one to cry in front of people in the first place. It wasn't as if he hadn't known everything that the other had said. Saying it out loud sounded so much more different, though. It brought reality into the mix. Everyone in his life had always turned their backs on him after they learned about his past problems. People always just assumed that he was lying. Maybe he'd been doing things to get attention. That was what they all thought. But here was different. He was just told that he was believed. He was trusted. Someone was going to help him.


	2. Injured

He stared down at the handkerchief at his lap for a moment before taking it and wiping his eyes. He blew his nose and wiped it with a small sniffle. He looked up when the doctor began to speak again, and slowly shook his head in time to the things he was saying. He wanted to see the doctor again. He didn't feel like a freak. He didn't feel like something was wrong with him when the other spoke to him. Not when he talked like this. He slowly stood, feeling slightly dizzy from crying, and held the used handkerchief out to Dr. Jones, assuming that he wanted it back.

Dr. Jones waved the handkerchief away dismissively and preceded Arthur to the locked door. With a hearty snap the tumbler unlatched and Jones held the door open before him with much civility, but not without catching Gil jumping back hurriedly from the door. Alfred's grin only widened, eyebrows hiked up. "How are you fairing, Mr. Beilschmidt? Do give Mrs. Héderváry-Edelstein my regards." It was an open secret that Gilbert and Roderich Edelstein's wife were having an affair. The poor catatonic musician was none the wiser, and his wife's forlorn visits to see her husband eventually became dalliances with Gilbert in the staff room. There'd be no skin off Gilbert's back if he was caught, but Mrs. Roderich Edelstein was an heiress and from old money and her reputation would be irreparable if she were caught. Alfred knew Gilbert was involved enough to care, and the threat communicated to him was understood. If Gilbert said a peep about his treatment with his clients, his lover's life would be ruined. Gilbert's lips twisted unhappily and have him a curt nod before reaching over and jerking Arthur's chains forward. "Oh, don't be too hard on him. Mr. Kirkland promised to behave. You did promise, right?" The last thing Arthur saw was Alfred's warm smile before the door was slammed in his face and the sound of footsteps shuffling behind the door. "Ha. I do hate using coercive tactics, but he's such a busy-body," Alfred sighed.

Gilbert turned to Arthur with a fierce intensity blazing his crimson eyes. "An' nothin' out of you, either!" He jerked the chains for emphasis. "I can make your life a living hell. All's I have to do is not leave marks." He twisted the tender flesh under Arthur's upper arm for emphasis and practically dragged him away. They returned to Arthur's room he shared with other infirms- not the holding cells for delinquents- and Gilbert tossed him in with the lot. They parted way for the boy to fall neatly on the floor and soon went back to milling around like they did before. There was a sweet-faced Italian man named who permanently regressed to boyhood after the molestation from his grandfather when he was a child, a Polish man with gender identity issues, and a homosexual Frenchman.

Without knowing what else to do with the handkerchief, and unsure if he was allowed to take it back to his room, Arthur dropped it to the floor. He nodded to Alfred's question, and jumped when the door was closed so abruptly.

Arthur's eyes widened as the chains were jerked. He actually had no idea what was going on between the guard and the married woman. He'd only been here for a few weeks, and most of the time, he'd been in solitary. He grit his teeth, but followed as he was dragged, trying to ignore the pain. He yelped as he hit the floor, nearly breaking his wrist trying to catch himself. He sighed and quickly stood. He was used to this treatment. He immediately went over and sat on his bed, ignoring the others. He wasn't particularly fond of any of them.

Francis had been chatting up the Italian for the last few days. Of course, he had no intention of pushing anything onto the young boy. It was harmless flirting. The other didn't even seem to notice the flirtatious behavior, because he didn't react other than with sinful ignorance. When Arthur came back into the cell, he sat on the bed next to the Englishman with a smirk. "How was your time in the hole, Monsieur?" he questioned in a thick, French accent. He'd been deported from the institution he'd been staying at in France to come here. This was the place of last resorts. This was the place of no return. He'd been like Arthur once, until he started behaving. Everything got better when that happened.

Arthur shot him a glare. "Get the Hell away from me, or I'll do something to you that will make me go back," he spat.

"A Frenchman and an Englishman, fighting like cats and dogs. Why am I not surprised." A high-pitched tut-tutting came from Feliks. He was examining his nails distractedly; morose over the chipped paint he could not touch up since one of the guards confiscated it from him last week. His designated pants were folded up to his thighs, showing off an impressive pair of legs that though were undoubtedly male; the muscles were curved in a gentle, feminine shape. Feliciano, the eternal boy, was torn between accepting the Frenchman's proposition and cowering from him, squeaking undignified "Ve~ ve~"s when he came too close. He breathed a sigh of relief and curled in a heap behind Feliks' legs (the transgender patted him fondly on the head before going back to his hands).

Feliks rolled his eyes at Arthur. "You know, darling, this tough-guy act has got to go. You're not going anywhere, so just make your stay pleasant." Of course, Feliks had no right to lecture. He himself was sporting a nasty bruise around his eye the color of ash and bruised petals. An indiscretion with another patient, a soft spoken schizophrenic who after the scandal, was taken to the hole and not heard from since.

Francis just winked at Arthur and got off of the bed to pace around the room. Being in here long enough could drive anyone mad, if they weren't already. He himself spent most of his time pacing when he found it too hard to make conversation with the others.

Arthur breathed a small sigh of relief when the Frenchman left, ignoring the wink. He made sure to keep his head tilted down, covering his scar. It seems most of the patients developed nervous ticks, such as the blond haired man's pacing, since they'd been here. It happened in a harsh environment with nothing to do. He turned towards Feliks. "Shut the Hell up. At least I'm not a god damn freak who thinks it's the wrong gender," he spat, actually surprising himself with how harsh he sounded. He usually wasn't that cruel, but he was over sensitive from his talk with Alfred.

Feliks gasped with an, "ah!" and wrenched back at Arthur. "Shut up! SHUT UP! How would you know, you stupid boy!" Feliciano wailed and clung to the man's hem like a toddler on his mother as Feliks closed the few steps between them and threw himself on Arthur. Nails bitten to the nub could do no damage to his face, but he did not hesitate to reach his fingers into Arthur's eye sockets, rip out his hair, anything he could reach in the span of an eternal few seconds before he was yanked away by Feli and Francis, flailing backwards in a mess of arms and legs, screaming and sobbing and crying "Toris!" presumably the name of his love who'd found each other in the worse of circumstances, only to be torn apart all too soon. Gilbert and his subordinates crashed into the room and quickly separated the bunch, one latching onto Feliks under the arms from behind and the other giving him a good sock to the face and knocked him out. Gilbert rolled his eyes as the transgender toppled to the floor, surveying the room. "Are we all right here, boys? I swear Jones was crazy to heap all you sex deviants into one room" ...did that mean Arthur, too? "Makes for good drama, though!" He chirped, and unexpectedly turned on Arthur. "Jones thinks your memory needs prep with some electro-therapy. Zzzzzztt!" Gilbert mimicked the morbid sound of the device with his hands up and fingers curling animatedly. "Sleep tight, Feliks!" Gilbert called behind him as he left the cell. The door closed with a loud clatter, but a set of red eyes shined through the slate. "You too, Arthur. Heh." And he was gone.

Arthur screamed unexpectedly as Feliks launched himself at him. After the fight was over, he sat in shook, clutching a bleeding eye socket. The other had managed to get his finger in one of his eyes, and pull out a clump of his hair near the back. He was shaking heavily and panting in an effort not to pass out. Gilbert must not have seen that he was injured... His eye was wrecked. There was no way he'd be able to see out of it again. Blood was dripping down his face.

Francis watched the entire scene with horror. He'd been frozen in place the entire time, unsure of what to do. He stared at Arthur, not getting that he should probably do something.

Arthur shakily stood, having a hard time keeping his balance because he was so dizzy from blood loss. He hadn't even registered the comment about electro-therapy. "H-Hello?" he yelled out through the door. "I-I'm injured..." he yelled slightly louder. "Please... I n-need m-medical assistance..."

Surely someone heard him. Even conspiratorial whispers, moans of pain, and desperate prayers echoed down the cold walls and crept into greedy, prying ears. Little pleasure came from succoring to the boy, however, and Arthur's pleas went unanswered. No from the outside was going to help him. Feliciano, however, slowly stood up and crept cautiously over to Arthur, hesitated, then gently turned him around so that he was facing him. "Ah... let me see." Feliciano gently placed his index and thumb above and below his eye, gently pulling the delicate eyelids away to get a better look. "Ohh! Scary! You look like a vampire!" The Italian bleated and jumped back and made a curious hand gesture, presumably a ward against, quite literally, the evil *eye*. Now with Feliks gone, Feliciano laid claim to the man's blanket (a transaction for sexual favors from another guard) and curled up in a ball, but not without on last ward at Arthur before hiding his head underneath the cover.

Arthur hadn't objected when the boy wanted to look at his eye. His good feeling from Alfred caring about him was slowly depleting, especially when the younger made warding signs at him. He was beginning to forget why he no longer hated the man. Jones ordered electro-therapy for him tomorrow. Jones wasn't _here_, helping him, when he suffered the risk of bleeding to death. He shakily went back to his bed and laid down, almost immediately passing out. Soon, his sheets were soaked in blood.


	3. Loss

Francis stared at the unconscious man for a long while before running over to the door and pounding on it. He wasn't particularly fond of the Englishman, but that didn't mean he wanted the other to die. "He'll succumb to blood loss if you don't do something about it!" he yelled, banging on the door furiously.

"Oh for FUCKS SAKE!" The door practically unhinged with the force of the break in and not two, but three guards besides Gilbert bustled into the room. "I want all three of these freaks OUT OF THE CELL!" Feliciano screamed and kicked as he scuttled against the corner, chained by hands and feet. He was even gagged, guards having learned before that this one made quite a racket. Francis was bound, too, and god only knew where they were taking him. Arthur was handled with more care, elevated evenly in Gilbert's arms and trudged out of the room.

"I'm sorry Mr. Kirkland for calling you a vampire I won't do it again!" Feliciano called after the unconscious Briton as all three of the former cell roommates parted down separate hallways. Arthur was going to the medical ward, Feliciano to "water therapy" again, and Francis... he was going to see the Specialist.

Gilbert grunted hiking Arthur up higher on his arms. "Fucking dumbass kid." The only reason why he rescued (and saved) Arthur was because he was Dr. Jones' favorite. He would get holy hell if something were to happen to him on his watch. He peered down at the boy. Probably passed out from blood loss. He was dripping quite a lot and would be bothersome if someone slipped on the blood. It probably would not get cleaned, just dried up. Finally in the medical ward, he deposited him on a bed, clapping his hands as if to brush off the dust. "He's all yours, babe." calling to the back of the nurse who scowled back at him before turning back to what she was doing. "Hey, he's gonna die, you know? This is Kirkland, Jones' little boy toy. So take care of him." That changed her tune. Reluctantly she rose and took post at Arthur's side, turned his head this way and that and prodding at his eye. "This is a doozey," she said offhand to Gilbert who was interested enough to audience.

"Yeah, well, do some-"

"I *can't* handle something like this on my own! He needs emergency intervention or he's going to die." Sesel stood up and took a deep breath. "Please get the... Specialist..." she shuttered at the name, yet only a nickname it was. "A-and Dr. Jones would like to be present. Call the local hospital-" When Gilbert tried to intervene she held up a hand. "If it's Dr. Jones' request, they will accept it. That man is..." Sesel trailed off, gathering contact information to hand to Gilbert. "Just do it." Reluctantly Gilbert snatched the papers out of her hands and stalked to the telephone, mumbling about working overtime and setting about calling the numbers.

Sesel was the most competent nurse on staff, and it wasn't much for her to stem the bleeding by stitching up the flaps of skin at the corner of his eye together again. Arthur's eyeball was, quite bluntly, bludgeoned through. The hole came from the side as if something long and narrow pushed inside the space between the socket and eye and curled inward, puncturing a hole into the globe and spitting out its contents.

Arthur remained completely limp as he was carried to the infirmary. As they talked, he shifted slightly, and groaned, but didn't show any other signs of waking up anytime soon. His breathing was slightly labored once the nurse was done sewing him up, and he looked pale, but he would most likely start to look a little better in a few hours.

Francis screamed and struggled as he was bound. He had just wanted to help Arthur. He didn't want to be taken away. The last time it had been horrid. He was thrashing with all his might, but couldn't find a way out of the restraints.

Big black boots, shiny from fresh blood, entered the room. The Specialist was a man of impressive stature, wrapped in surgeon gear and splattered all over with blood that certainly wasn't his. His eyes were inhuman, that's the only way it could be put, cradled inside a playfully boyish face and innocent smile. "I am summoned to assist in the surgery, da? Will I be cutting anything open?"

The surgery team, Dr. Jones included, was gathered around a table and looked on uneasily at the newcomer before Alfred impatiently gestured him inside. "No time for this. He's lost too much blood." Ivan acquiesced, taking his place at the head of the table where Arthur lies. "Oh my, look at that. It was the queer boy, da? Not the French one; I just finished with him." Alfred rolled his eyes as doused his hands in alcohol. The surgery was about to take place.

It was a successful process, tricky because of the times, but there was an expert team working on him and Arthur was lucky to have made it through. His eye was entirely removed. He had to get a glass replacement some time. By coincidence or not, it happened to be on the burned side of his face, so that his entire left side wasn't even blessed with the redeeming feature of his green eyes. Within several hours he would wake to find the side of his head wrapped in bandages over his eye, much like the time he woke up after the night of the fire. Dr. Jones was waiting at his side, somehow knowing when Arthur would awaken, and his warm hand was held in his own, though it did nothing to quell the incredible pain he experienced.

Arthur began stirring in his sleep. He woke up screaming at the top of his lungs. He'd dreamed about smoke, and burning flesh. Screams. He shot up in the bed, and immediately regretted it. The entire left side of his face was incredibly sore, and with every move and facial expression, it only stressed that fact further. He blinked, then flinched, and looked to his side when he felt his hand in another's. He looked confused. He wasn't entirely surprised to see Alfred there, actually. His surprise was that he was here in the first place, with his eye completely bandaged. He carefully reached up to gently touch the left side of his face, and hissed in pain. His look was one of confusion as he turned back towards Alfred. "...what happened...?"

Alfred smiled and gently removed Arthur's hand from his face. "It's going to be all right," he said soothingly, gently guiding him with a flat palm to lie back down. He fixed up the blankets Arthur displaced on his violent awakening and smoothed them with extra care. "You're in the med ward," he finally answered, meeting Arthur's remaining eye. "Mr. Łukasiewicz is gone. You won't be seeing any more of him." _I saw to it myself_. Alfred chuckled. "We'll see if that fag is going to Hell or not." His smile didn't match his eyes, however, and sometimes he had a nervous tick of pushing up his glasses, like now. He wondered himself.

"Right! Silly of me to forget!" Alfred popped open his doctor's bag and rummaged through its contents. He came out with a syringe and ampule and quickly set about setting up the administration, finding a morbid joy in watching the solution squirt from the vial that eliminated all air from the syringe. Delicately tapping for a vein, Jones expertly administered the shot, a potent cocktail of opium derivative easing into Arthur's blood stream and quelling the pain. Alfred put the material away and returned his hand into its rightful place in Arthur's. "I shouldn't have put you in that room," Dr. Jones said helplessly. "I should have known... should have known…" Alfred murmured off, closing his eyes and brushing Arthur's knuckles against his lips, wholly enjoying the sensation and being thoroughly unprofessional about it. "How does that feel, Arthur, when I touch you like this?" He trailed the back of his fingers down the length of the inside of Arthur's arm; swirling around the pinpoint of blood he didn't bother covering. In Arthur's state of mind, he surely was unable to coherently accept or object.

Arthur didn't object as he was laid back down. He was still panting lightly, calming down from his nightmare. His brows furrowed. "...did he get moved...?" he questioned, not exactly understanding what the doctor was attempting to hint at. Arthur tensed slightly as he saw the needle, having always hated them deeply for some reason. He was at least a little more used to them than he had been before he'd been here. After all, he got a syringe in his arm at least once a week for one thing or another. A little while after the shot was given, Arthur's mind started to feel foggy. He couldn't think straight, but the pain was gone, and it felt incredible. He had a stupid grin on his face, and was staring up at Jones. He mumbled something that didn't exactly sound like approval, but nor did it sound like disapproval. He felt too good at the moment to object.

Alfred took in the sedated heartbeat, the dilated pupils. Arthur was too far gone to lucidly acknowledge his advances, and for someone as shy as Arthur, that was a good thing. He didn't want to scare the boy away, but initiative had to be taken at some point if he ever wanted their relationship to progress on more unceremonious grounds. It was difficult to hold back at such a cute, helpless Arthur. "Yes, dear Arthur, he's relocated." he moaned softly, for once using the boy's first name, whether consciously or unconsciously. His tongue flicked between the notches of his knuckles, then kissed down the outer edge of his hand, breathing hot over his palm before taking an entire finger into his mouth, sucking obscenely on the digit.

Seles was absolutely horrified at the sight, watching on as her superior blatantly took advantage of the drugged boy, his *patient*, right there on the hospital bed, He didn't even bother to draw the curtains. Her face and neck bloomed with embarrassment and incredulity. It wasn't... uncommon for doctors to bed their patients. It happened all too often, in fact. Doctors taking advantage of their ill patients like that. But to be so obvious and crude about it... Alfred's attention shifted to Seles and she jumped. His attention still remained on the boy, never moving except for his eyes, and he let go of the boy's finger to lewdly draw the flat of his tongue up the length of Arthur's finger all while keeping eye contact. Seles clutched her uniform and ran out of the room.

Arthur shifted slightly and looked up at Alfred, not registering anything that was happening. He felt a slight tingling sensation on his hand where it was being licked, almost like pins and needles. Though, it wasn't unpleasant. His eyes glazed over, he muttered a few coherent words. "...they just left me there to die when I called for them..." he murmured, obviously in a different state of mind. He was slowly thinking about what had happened before he woke. He couldn't remember leaving the room. He remembered thinking he was going to die. "...what happened...?" he practically slurred. It sounded like rushing water in his ears, and he could faintly hear the soft moan from the other, but thought nothing of it.

Alfred released his capture of Arthur's finger with an obscene pop. He pouted, openly disappointed, though the other boy couldn't tell. "I'll assign you a new room all for yourself. I'll spare a guard for you, too." The asylum was, of course, incredibly overcrowded and one room for Arthur meant distributing four more patients in other cells, not to mention the scarce staff. He stood, careful not to disrupt the bed and smoothed his clothes still stained with Arthur's blood. It was no fun if Arthur wasn't responding (not at this time, anyway). "Oh, you forgot?" he asked rhetorically when Arthur asked about the events prior. "That one with the sex disorder- well, they all had one." Alfred rolled his eyes either at the obviousness or protective disdain he had towards them. "…the Polish one. He bludgeoned your eye out," he said bluntly, smoothing out his tie, feeling the dried blood like rush on the silk... Hm, interesting Arthur didn't remember. He wondered if it was a normal reaction to trauma or if he had one of his irregular blackouts again. "You'll be in recovery for a few days.

Truthfully, Dr. Jones was terrified when he was woken out of bed from a phone call informing him Arthur had been injured. It wouldn't have been serious if they didn't call. He had fallen asleep at his desk at home, exhausted from finishing the rest of the day's work at home and immediately rushed to the asylum without changing clothes. It didn't bother him very much to be in day-old clothes, blood spatter and everything. It felt almost nice, since it was Arthur's blood.

Arthur yawned softly. He faintly heard what Alfred was saying. He shook his head. "...the guards left me to die at first... Last thing I remember was lying on my bed... Musta passed out," he murmured. He was tired. Even with sleeping for so long, his body was exhausted from the stress it had recently gone under. He paused for a moment, as if just registering what the doctor had said. He put his hand up gently to the left side of his face, but he was too numb to experience the pain that came with touching his injury anymore. "...is my eye gone...?" He didn't look nearly as upset about it as he should have been. Mostly because he was drugged. If he hadn't been, he probably would've been freaking out over it. Not that he didn't have a right to... He blinked, for the first time noticing or registering that Dr. Jones had stood. "...please don't leave..." he muttered. He was in his right mind enough to not want to be left alone under the care of the staff again. The only reason they'd even considered saving his life was because of Alfred. He knew that. He was sure everyone knew that. He just figured that the relationship between them was as family would have.

Jones' eyebrows lifted in surprise and without even thinking he sat down again. "Sure," he said dazedly. He cupped Arthur's hand in his lap, one supporting underneath Arthur's with the other tickling his upturned palm. "Oh. Silly me. You must be parched." Jones with the utmost care lifted Arthur upright. Even with his sedentary job, he was strong. He held the lip of the glass to Arthur's lips slowly tipping it back for a single drought. He did this over and over with patient care, watching in fascination as the water dripped over his chin when he (purposefully) gave too much. It slid down his neck and puddled inside his clavicle, or dribbled farther down to sneak teasingly under his shirt, dried and saturated with blood. He slowly laid him back down and petted his hair soothingly. "How's that?"

Arthur swallowed the water, not even noticing the excess of it dribbling down his chin. He yawned again and smiled. The hand at his hair felt nice. "...better," he slurred out. Briefly, though the thought was still there, he wondered when the drugs would wear off. He started mumbling incoherent things as he had before. His thoughts were even more jumbled than his speech at the moment. After a short while, the mumbling got softer, and then stopped, and his eyelid, heavy with exhaustion, slipped closed. The other one, underneath the bandage, was already closed. He began to snore softly as he slept.


	4. Anger

Oh, how precious. Dr. Jones smiled, a fuzzy feeling tickling his chest as he watched Arthur swoon to sleep like a small child. He was even talking in his sleep! Alfred eagerly lent an ear to catch the last strands of murmured breath, but to no avail. He leaned back again, pouting and slightly disappointed, wondering if he missed anything important. Well, that would be cheating if he found out now. Arthur was such an enigma. Not that we wouldn't eventually cleave his mind and pick out the sweet meats that fascinated him so. He would savor every last piece of Arthur. He hoped Arthur wouldn't bore him.

"Well, now, my boy." Alfred cheerfully patted the back of the unconscious boy's hand. "You won't much like the next time we meet, since it's going to be when we clean your wound. We'll probably have to drain it again." Alfred tilted his head in thought, a rather boyish and innocent gesture, as if the curiosity didn't come with the malignity to carry it out. But this was general practice, so it was okay. "Sleep tight. Enjoy the twilight state, since you won't be getting much of that anymore. We're low on resources." Meaning when Arthur woke up again his wouldn't be bearable under drugs, and worse to come when they strap him down to unwind the gauze out of his empty eye and stuff it back with new fresh, sterile gauze.

Arthur woke more peacefully than he had the first time a few hours later. He grit his teeth together against the pain he was experiencing, though. He had been so disoriented earlier. He barely remembered any of the conversation, and wondered for a few moments if it had been a dream. Not that it mattered much. By this time, he was positive that he'd lost his eye. He could feel the pain inside his eye socket. It was the strangest feeling he'd ever had. Well... Not really the strangest feeling so much, as it was strange for the pain to be in such a place. He was panting softly, pain shooting through his left eye socket every time he blinked, causing the left side of his face to twitch slightly, and therefore, causing more pain on his part. He glanced around the room for a moment, wondering where everyone was. For some reason, he'd assumed that someone would be there when he awoke. He wasn't quite sure why.

Arthur waited a day for Alfred to come back. He was dressed to the nines, as always, in a three piece suit fashionable at the time when he returned to the ward. He kneeled at Arthur's height and swept up his hand into a kiss, grin never leaving. "Today's going to be an exciting day," he smiled. He shrugged out of the jacket leaving the waistcoat on, pocket watch jingling and threw it to a nurse who suddenly appeared in the room, substituting it for a surgeon's gown. As he was pulling it on several doctors followed in, a team of four altogether gathering around Arthur's bed.

A steel gurney rolled in, parking besides Arthur and the team hefted him under his blanket onto the freezing cold gurney. The sheet was then wrestled out from underneath the boy. Dr. Jones was right at his side and about to say something until a doctor leaned in and murmured into Alfred's ear. "Oh, I have no clue. You can look it up? The manual has an appendix," he replied with a shrug. Soon the doctor came back and dropped a huge arcane book across the surgical instruments table in front of them and both men poured over the contents, ruminating together in quiet tones. Dr. Jones' finger trailed the margins of text until he found what he was looking for and tapped it pointedly. The other doctor shook his head and motioned to another section on the page and they began arguing. It was a bunch of technical jargon to Arthur and might as well have been Greek for all he could tell. However, the facts were that not only couldn't the men agree on the proper procedure and were under-prepared, but they were referencing a general medical book at least a decade old. From what Arthur could tell they compromised on a cross-section of both procedures, the other man coming around to Arthur's side where the staff waited around him. Alfred stepped up and gently removed the bandages himself. Finally peeling back the matted gauze sponge Arthur's swollen eyelids he was cooing soft, reassuring words to Arthur even as he pried apart the lids and gaped into the cavern where his patient's eye had once been.

Arthur needed more time to heal. The extraction left the remaining tissue damaged and would take over a week for a successful recovery, let alone post-op implantation. But Alfred missed him so, so much. Being without Arthur was unbearable. He felt lonely without him. He nodded and stepped back, and they all seemed to descend on him at once. Restraining Arthur's wrists, ankles, even a thick long strap across his chest to the gurney. Finally a curvilinear metal bar clamped across his forehead and cushioned screws firmly secured against his temples, disallowed any movement whatsoever.

"Don't worry, Mr. Kirkland. This is to keep you safe," he reassured him even as the boy's head was being held in place by the screws. "We performed an enucleating, so with the muscle mass still intact it makes the implant much easier to fit into the eye cavity. I just need to measure the socket, pop in your new eye, and we'll be on our way!" Alfred, never leaving eye contact, reached behind himself without looking and held up a pair of sharp-tipped measuring calipers for him to see.

Arthur had just woken up. He'd been sleeping, thankfully getting a few hours before the other returned. He held a look of slight confusion as his doctor spoke about how the day was going to be exciting. He wasn't entirely sure how. He completely tensed when Alfred was placed in a surgeon's gown, his remaining eye going wide. What did he need surgery for? He'd thought everything for his injury was done and over with. He began panicking further when the other doctors crowded around him, his breath hitching slightly. He looked frightened.

As he was lifted, he squirmed slightly. He was confused. He wanted answers, but he couldn't find his voice. His eye shifted uneasily from one doctor to the next. It was slightly easier to ignore the pain when so much was happening. Exciting, indeed... He could barely catch any words from the mumbled conversation the surgeons were having with each other over the pounding of blood in his ears. Despite himself, Arthur felt a little calmer as Dr. Jones attempted to reassure him. He flinched slightly as the protection on his eye socket was removed, and grit his teeth when his lid was pried apart.

His panic only increased as he was strapped down. He began to pant in distress, still unable to find his voice, and tears forming in his tear ducts before spilling over his cheeks. It would be better if he knew what was happening at this point. He tugged slightly at the restraints, feeling his hands shaking slightly.

He breathed a soft sigh of relief as Alfred explained what was happening to him, before the color from his face drained at the sight of the tool. He shut his eyes tightly, almost screaming out in pain, the noise being trapped in the back of his throat. He kept his eyes tightly closed as he spoke, slightly wishing he could shake his head to express his distaste for this further. "I-Implant...? What implant? I th-thought I w-was just going t-to b-be left without an eye... ...a-and without any anesthetic...?" he questioned weakly, refusing to open his eyes, no matter how painful keeping them tightly shut was to his left eye socket.

"No, Mr. Kirkland, be a good boy," he admonished firmly when Arthur refused to open his eyes. He didn't understand; why wasn't Arthur accepting his help, when he was in obvious pain? It upset him that he could be so untrusted enough to lose his temper that always raged behind the pleasant facade. "You need a new implant or else your eyelids will concave. It's not to look _pretty_, you fucking brat," he said harshly and jerked the leather bridle off of the table and shoved it in his mouth. It was to keep himself from biting his tongue and bleeding to death, but it presently served the helpful purpose of a gag, too. He didn't want to hear any more betrayals from his mouth.


	5. Alone

((Sorry it took so long to update. I haven't had access to the computer. Anyway, here it is. Feel free to point out any spelling/grammar mistakes. I have to edit all this, so there's probably a few. Thanks for reading^^))

He simply didn't see why Arthur was so upset. He was being so nice to Arthur but he threw it back in his face. He spent the entire day visiting every oculist in the city of London for the perfect color to match his green eyes only to be rejected for his faithfulness to Arthur's love. His anger only grew cold, though, and he motioned for one of the doctors to pry Arthur's eye open if he wouldn't cooperate enough to keep still. "*Don't* move. Or I might further your injuries," he snapped. It sounded more as a threat than a caution. With expert precision Alfred measured the space between the corners of his eye, as well as bottom to top. On the instruments table a display of glass eyes in jars of solution lined the table, marked by size. He ordered Arthur's measurements and with a gloved hand took the milky glass globe dripping with solution and began the agonizing process of fitting it in Arthur's eye cavity. The doctor that was actually supposed to lead the operation (the other practitioners were present for emergencies and if Arthur was too unruly) before Alfred insisted, was still prying Arthur's eye open with the depressors. He pulled with even greater difficulty from Arthur's swollen flesh as Alfred twisted the implant and bent his arm for a better angle. Jones had no experience with optical surgery, but he had the applied knowledge and confidence (and supervision), along with luck for no complications, and the expertise in which he succeeded even impressed the doctor.

It was definitely not as easy as he made it seem. Arthur's screams... did something to him. His anger immediately vaporized giving way to the heady state Arthur put him through whenever he saw the boy suffer. It was inexplicably delicious and intoxicating that made him so obsessed with Arthur in the first place. Why this boy? He didn't know. He asked himself that sometimes in quiet space between fatigue and sleep sometimes, when he was genuinely lucid and not screaming inside his head, but there was definitely something's special about this boy that captivated him. It was hard to concentrate and he was definitely getting hard. He pressed two fingers to Arthur's pulse to ground himself as he finally inserted the implant. When it was finally over he snapped the gloves off tossing them aside, back turned on him as Arthur's cleaning was finalized.

Arthur would've flinched at the other's harsh tone if he could've managed any movement past the restraints. He was surprised by the sudden mood swing. He just assumed things would be less painful if they just let his wound heal. The Brit felt as if he was going to be sick. He didn't mean to take Alfred's thoughtfulness for granted. He simply didn't know much about the medical field. More tears made their way down his face as he looked up at the doctor pleadingly after the threat. At least... That was what he took it as.

The screaming made his throat raw. Scream after scream vibrated from his throat and into the bit. The pain was incredibly intense. After the drug he had when he'd first woken in the infirmary, everything seemed so much more intense. He could feel the beat of his heart through his sore eyelids, and as Alfred pulled away, he stopped screaming. His good eye went slightly vacant and his pupil dilated. His pulse slowed, and his breathing was shallow and irregular. He was utterly silent, and unresponsive, his skin seeming slightly paler than it should've been, and a thin layer of sweat covering his entire body.

Alfred placed his hands on the small of his back, head bowed forward. Collecting himself. He felt sluggish even as adrenaline rushed his system. There were too many feelings contradicting each other and all he could do to keep it together was distract himself with listening to his surroundings. He could guess Arthur's bleeding was stemmed as well as it could be and his wound was probably being redressed. Arthur was most definitely in shock, that he could tell, if not for the _lack_ of Arthur's vitals in the room. He turned his head to make sure the doctors we pushing the boy on his side, so as not to choke on his vomit should the incident pass, be he saw no inclination in their doing so. Sighing exasperatedly, and privately thankful for the distraction, he guided Arthur's frame to turn onto this uninjured side, the unmarred side.

He was ceremonious with relations with his colleagues, happily receiving congratulatory pats and guffawing at morbid anecdotes from doctors who weren't so successful in their past surgeries. Pure fabrication. He wanted them to get the hell out of his asylum, get the hell away from _him_ and fuck off, for all he cared. With a falsely remorseful denial of joining them for drinks at a gentleman's club, they couldn't bugger off too soon for him. Finally the men were gone, and the women nurses, too, and finally, _finally_ Alfred was left with Arthur all to himself.

He laid his head nose-to-nose with Arthur, eyebrows raised inquisitively as he lazily searched for consciousness in Arthur's face. He didn't seem too responsive right now, "…but you'll be fine as long as I'm here," he finished. Alfred winced in distaste as the feeling of cold, coagulated blood on his skin and peeled his face off the metal slab, hoisting Arthur up with him and depositing him onto the bed. He threw extra blankets on him and resumed their previous, slightly intimate (on one side, at least) positions. "Hey," Alfred whispered, wondering if he would respond.

Arthur had remained in his state as everyone emptied the room. He was completely unaware that he'd been left alone with Jones. To the small whisper, he blinked, but his good eye remained dull. After a few minutes, it only seemed slightly dazed as he slipped out of his state of shock. His breathing evened out, and he began shivering under the blankets, trying to warm up. The entire left side of his face was horribly sore. He had regained color to his skin, and looked like he was recovering. When he became fully aware of the position that he and Alfred were in, he shied away slightly, averting his eyes. He was worried that the doctor might still be in his angry mood from earlier, and was overall uncomfortable with such close contact from anyone, let alone his supposed "doctor." He'd seen a small sliver of the man's angry side, and it deeply frightened him. Which convinced him to not completely give the other man the cold shoulder, and just get off the bed and sit or lay somewhere else. Instead, he only moved away from him a little on the bed, using his next question as a reason. "...is there a restroom in here...?" he murmured, still avoiding looking Alfred in the eyes.

Alfred leaned over Arthur, actually _moving with him_ as he moved away until he had both hands at either side of his face, yet not entirely eclipsing boy. It was a playful prowess that for once had no nefarious design; he was just happy Arthur was doing well. He was, however, abysmal at reading the mood and often made others uncomfortable if he wasn't paying attention like he wasn't now. "Of course, let me help you." Clueless again, he carefully collected Arthur into his arms so the boy didn't faint or collapse and carried him to the latrine, leaning him against the wall so the boy could easily settle onto the seat. "Need any more help?" he suggested either overzealous or lewdly; it was hard to tell. However already anticipating the answer he waved it off with a chuckle and with a reassurance he'd help him back to bed when he was done, closed the door behind him to give him his privacy.

He was himself again. He'd gotten better at controlling the dark episodes. _And gee, they used to be _really_ bad_, he thought, but he couldn't take all the credit; he just couldn't stay mad at that cute face. Yet, recently most times than not Arthur was the cause and solution to his wicked moods. And it frightened him. As much as he loved teasing the boy, rowing him into outrage or tears, the boy had just as much sway over his self-control as him. It would complicate things if he led that on, though he privately boasted himself too clever than to let others manipulate _him_, and especially not one as young and as obvious as Arthur.

Alfred ratted on the door with the back of his knuckles. "You finished in there?"

Arthur completely tensed as his face was grabbed. With each action, even being carried to the bathroom, he was noticing more and more that there was something wrong with Alfred. He seemed... Well, a lot of things. He was possessive, had horrible mood swings, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized how manipulative the doctor was. He sat down once he was in the bathroom, and locked the door, trying to be quiet about it. He did his business, then flushed and walked over to wash his hands. He then walked over to the door, leaning against it slightly, but not wanting to face the other. Alfred scared him. If it wouldn't have been for the little episode during the surgery earlier today, then he might not have realized that. He jumped as the door was knocked on, and leaned his head against the wall, glancing down to make sure the door was still locked. "...please go away," he murmured, trying to be careful as he spoke. "...I just want to be alone right now..." It may have not been the best thing for Arthur to be alone with his thoughts, but it was better than being with Dr. Jones. He had a hard time trusting people in the first place, and now he was especially wary of the other.

There was a long stretch of silence at the other side of the door. Then, a soft knocking. "Mr. Kirkland? You need to come out, now." The voice sounded more concerned than demanding, though it was a command. "It's, uh, rreeeallllyyyy not safe for you to be on your feet after losing a pint of blood. And you've locked the door." He eyed the locked doorknob warily. Jones didn't check but he heard it earlier. Now that he thought of it, it was really dumb of him to leave Arthur alone. Breaking protocol was practically second nature to him, but he usually minded the gap, so to speak. Then again, he _did_ let Arthur take a pen to his neck, however asinine that incident was. He got carried away, again. Alfred sighed, leaning next to the door, back of his head thunking smartly against the wall. Arthur was onto him, eh? _I took it too far with the surgery. I didn't mean to yell him! I was under a lot of pressure, geez! You try squeezing an eyeball in someone's head for the first time…_ Somehow he knew bringing it up would only be awkward and counterproductive. While he waited for Arthur he continued ruminating. _I can still set things right._ He was confident in that, at least. He was only disappointed in himself for being so silly. He knew he was a little bit strange sometimes, but he didn't think it was _that bad._

Finally Alfred heard the quiet click of the tumbler latch and the door tentatively (reluctantly) open, Arthur peeking his head out in search for the doctor. Alfred was out of visual range having stepped out to the nurse's station to undress into his jacket and scrub his face with alcohol. He abruptly side-stepped into his view, startling him, but Dr. Jones wasted no time pulling an arm over his shoulder slowly walking the boy back to the cot, quite different from sweeping Arthur up classic bride style. He carefully slid him under the covers but didn't fuss with the covers like before. "Well then." Alfred ran his fingers through his own hair, damp at the hairline from light perspiration. "We'll resume your appointments after you've recovered. Don't worry; I'll leave you alone like you asked until then. See you in two weeks, Mr. Kirkland." Dr. Jones grinned conservatively, putting his hands in his pockets and disappearing out the door without a look back.

Arthur was a lonely kid, but a year ago he didn't know how blessed he was to have a family. Alfred knew it was more complicated than that, boy he _knew_ how important it was to keep appearances in a good family, and that pressure often exasperated the problems inside of it. Now Arthur really had no one else. _Not to mention society's disdain. Heh._ Dr. Jones grinned at a nurse in the hallway and she blushed, dipping her chin modestly as she passed by with her clipboard tucked to her chest. His grin only widened. Yeah, things would work out. Really, he was doing Arthur a service being so nice to him. Poor boy would have croaked in a pool of his own blood were it not for his favoritism.


	6. Lies

Arthur felt slightly guilty when he opened the door. This time, he only heard concern in Alfred's voice. He sounded like... Well, a doctor. He was already feeling slightly lightheaded from standing too long, so he was even slightly grateful when the other helped him into bed. He said nothing. Despite his earlier actions, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty. Even with what had happened, Dr. Jones seemed to really care about him. With that in mind, he convinced himself over a few days' time that the doctor didn't have an issue. He had just imagined things worse than they had been. He was over thinking. Two weeks later, the loneliness had eaten away at him. He had refused to talk once more, and for the past couple of days, he'd refused to eat. If a nurse would try and convince him to, they were met with threats. When the doctor came back, he was looking terrible. He was starting to lose weight, he was pale, and his facial expression was void of emotion. He hadn't realized how much he really needed Alfred. How he had nobody else. He was on his side, curled up in a ball, and facing the wall. He hadn't spoken in over a week, aside from threats to the nurses when he found it necessary.

Dr. Jones, of course, still received regular behavioral and medical progress updates. Arthur's post-op recovery went swimmingly, but the same could not be said about his lapse into the same defiant behavior he privately labeled "Arthur Syndrome". He wondered if it was only out of hope to suspect that after steering clear of the boy for so long, that the reason behind Arthur's hunger/silent strike was for want of attention, overbalancing the dual need to rebel. Refusing to visit the boy, the clinicians asked what they should do. Alfred only shrugged dismissively, saying that he'll eat when he's hungry enough.

Two weeks passed. He went on his business, bored as hell, slightly piqued, and even interested at times, but his patients were compositely rather droll. He had already figured most of them out, and while the journey was fun, he got bored easily. Most of his work was stabilizing their moods with the right "treatment" and attending hydro therapy or electric shock therapy for observation. Ivan was adept at his job, his care showing out, and they worked well together. (Arthur had a few sessions until Alfred learned how interesting the boy was and reserved his appointments for talk sessions only.)

Arthur, curled up like a cat in the middle of the cot with the sheets completely covering him, was so small he'd almost didn't notice him. He was out of the way tucked in the corner cot, the nurses too annoyed to be bothered with him. Dr. Jones observed him silently, hands behind his back. The boy had definitely lost weight, and he anticipated the unhealthy pallor in his features. Alerted upon hearing someone approach, the boy stiffened and curled even tighter into himself. He couldn't quite make it out, but he thought he heard some awful threat out of the boy.

"Well, that's not very nice, considering I came all this way to visit you," he piqued.

Arthur, who had completely been expecting a nurse with food, blinked in surprise at the voice. He slowly sat up, and looked at Alfred. He stopped to hold his head for a moment, dizzy from not eating, then looked back up. He smiled. It was hopeful, but broken. Anyone could tell from looking at him that the wrong words could easily push him to sobs at this point. "...I'm sorry for saying that I'd disembowel you..." he murmured. His heart hurt. Over the past two weeks, he'd learned how alone he really was. He missed his family... Even his couple of friends at school. But each day alone in this place made it worse. It hallowed him out. Every day reminded him that this is where he'd be spending the rest of his life.

The sweet look on Arthur's face made his heart clench. He never smiled before, and Arthur was especially guarded around him, the head clinician and de facto threat. It was very lovely, trembling and unsure. And a little shy? Alfred suppressed a grin of his own. He must have really missed him to have forgotten himself to speak openly to him. It looked like he wasn't scared of him, either. "How have you been fairing, Mr. Kirkland?" Though he knew already. Hasn't eaten in days, only words he deigned to spare were in the form of threats. He rocked on his heels, looking him over. At least he bothered to bathe. That was nice.

Though Arthur's guard had been cautiously up around all the nurses that had been in his room in the past two weeks, he couldn't help but lose himself as Alfred entered. The doctor was the only one he knew who really cared about him. The only one he trusted to always be there. He faintly remembered Alfred staying when he'd asked him to after he'd been drugged. The mask that he'd been wearing his entire time in the hospital had almost completely vanished. Though, at the question, his smile faltered, then dropped as he looked away, not saying anything.

Dr. Jones allowed a short period of silence between them before dropping a folded pile of clothes next to him. It was standard patient wear, but at least it was clean. "May I?" He gestured with a hand for permission to sit on the bed. Taking his seat, he was still above Arthur's eye level. He slowly lifted his right hand in front of Arthur's good eye, making sure the boy saw it before passing it out of range onto his bandages. His left eye was only covered by a square gauze sponge and medical tape, and Jones' gentle doctor hands took great care in unsticking the adhesive from his skin without hurting him. "There is a hint of swollenness, but that will pass," he said softly. He grinned and patted his cheek. "You were a good boy."

He stood up and turned his back, cocking his head as he spoke to Arthur from behind. "Go get changed and meet me at my office. You'll catch your death walking around in that shift." He walked out, presumably for his office. Honestly, he wanted to walk with Arthur and chat with him about the past few weeks (at least _Alfred's_ time. Arthur didn't seem too open about their little holiday away from each other). He figured Arthur needed more time to "think," as in, feel bad and remind himself how stupid he was to push him away. _It's for the best, Arthur,_ he thought.

Arthur sighed slightly in relief as the bandage was taken off of his eye. It felt less hot and sweaty now. His wound could breathe. He blinked as he was praised, then smiled widely. He nodded as he was told to change. As soon as Alfred left, he quickly changed into the clean clothing, and headed for the other's office. It was obvious how dependent he was on the doctor, even to himself. As he slipped into the mindset of this, he slowly found himself not caring. Alfred was the only thing he had in this world anymore. He didn't even have a home. Alfred was it. Save for the Frenchman who'd technically saved his life. But he didn't know about that. He could only assume that it was the doctor who'd made sure he'd had medical attention for his eye before bleeding to death. He finally made it to the door, and paused for a moment, his smile faltering. Was he right? Just because Alfred seemed to be the only one he had didn't mean that the other was good for him... He quickly shook off the thought. Dr. Jones had saved him a few times already. Of course the other was good for him. He stepped into the man's office, his grin present once more.

Dr. Jones' eyebrows arched upon Arthur's entrance, surprised Arthur was still in a pleasant mood. He couldn't help to keep Arthur's smile from echoing on his own face, pleasantly sweeping his hand towards the patient's seat to sit down. He was seated behind his desk, ankle hiked on his other knee casually and tapping the fountain pen to his lips- a nervous tick he picked up in med school when he was distracted. It was absolutely wonderful to see Arthur across the desk from him again, right where he belonged. Although the couch was rather inviting, too. Give it time.

Although it was nice to see any behavioral change besides closed-off, feigned indifference (sporadically peppered with bouts of vulnerability, only to be immediately followed up with even stronger resolve not to break), and Arthur's smile was darling, he was, after all, a professional.

"You're looking very well today. You have a very beautiful smile, Mr. Kirkland." He smiled. "What did you do for fun before you were admitted?" He didn't bother pretending Arthur wasn't locked up for life and couldn't have fun again.

Arthur sat down quickly. It was nice to be somewhere besides the infirmary. This was the only place he felt comfortable in the hospital, after all. To be honest, after going so long without seeing the doctor, he already knew he wasn't going to want to leave. At least when he was here he had something to do. He could talk. Every other place in the asylum only offered either loneliness, pain, or both. Here he was at the very least distracted from his situation. His smile faded slightly as he remembered that he wouldn't be able to have fun again. This was his "home" now. "I... I used to play football for my school. A-And I enjoyed art and cooking. ...but I'm not any good at cooking," he admitted with a sheepish smile. He blinked. "Oh... And you can call me Arthur. I don't mind," he explained, the smile from this morning still remaining. He was just excited that Alfred was back.

"Arthur it is, then." Dr. Jones smiled. He quickly caught on to Arthur's sudden agreeableness, the shy smiles and outward vulnerability. It was good that he had a good inkling he would be the only one seeing it, otherwise he would be terribly jealous. He listened on as Arthur talked.

"Did you cook with your mother?" he asked lightly, pen twirling. "And to be fair, you can call me Alfred, if it makes you feel comfortable." Ah, first name basis now? He wondered how comfortable Arthur would be with other things. He also wondered how Arthur would take the question, and if he would finally learn more about his family that he refused to speak of before. He didn't even speak in his defense at trial, and all information about familial relations were rumors by 2 degrees of separation, at best. Even when it would be in his favor, Arthur refused to stand trial. The case was highly publicized, and everyone knew the public had an enormous sway on the jury if it was not sequestered. Even a few tears from the handsome young boy crying amnesia on the night his parents were literally pitched in a funeral pyre would have flipped the case on its head. It was one of the things that fascinated Alfred, who was so antithetical from that.

At the question, Arthur's smile vanished. His eyes shifted to his lap, and his hands played nervously with the hem of his shirt. He didn't particularly want to answer the question. Though, he didn't want Alfred to leave, either, and he was afraid that was what might happen if he didn't answer. He slowly nodded. "I had to cook with my mother when my father wasn't home. He said the kitchen was the woman's workplace. He didn't like me cooking. Or doing anything with visual art. He only supported me playing football," he explained, as if each word pained him. Even though these weren't the greatest memories, they were still memories. They were all he had, and they were his and his alone. Sharing them with someone else felt wrong. Even if it was Alfred. The Englishman was trembling slightly.

Well, that obviously hit a nerve, innocuous as the question was. Alfred got more comfortable in his seat, looking up contemplatively and tapping his chin with the pen. "It's good to have a well-balanced range of skills. Even men need to cook. It must have made you upset to have your father put you down about something you love to do." He chanced a sidelong glance at the boy before continuing. "My family had a cook, and if I wasn't eating at the pub I always ate what the food service provided at my college. I absolutely hate Shepard's pie, and it was served every Thursday night. If I could cook like you, I would have made something else." A rather boring story, but he looked on his college years with fond memories. There were a few... bumps in the road, but everything turned out all right when the wrinkles were smoothed out. He wanted to put Arthur at ease again.

"What about your football team? You were..." Alfred made a humming sound like he was thinking, closing an eye "…a striker! Definitely. Am I right?" He looked quite satisfied with himself, confident in his assessment. He then added, as if in afterthought, "how did you get along with your teammates? I mean they were jealous of your skill." He guessed as much that he didn't get along with even them, but he could be wrong. If it was true, it was easier for Arthur to agree and put the blame on them while admitting to Alfred that he had difficulty getting along.

Arthur sheepishly nodded to everything the other said. "They didn't like me," he said softly. He was more open, yet his posture remained in the same, nervous place. "My father would get mad when our team wouldn't win, and he wouldn't let me miss practice, even if I was ill. I think they didn't like me because I didn't want to be there." He paused, and looked off to the side for a moment, pondering whether or not to share something with Alfred. "One day my father came home and found me cooking with mum... He locked her in the basement, and held my hand over the stovetop for almost a minute." He slowly held up his hand, revealing a terrible burn scar that had just been marked as another injury from the house fire. "I didn't cook anymore after that. I can't." Talking about this actually felt... Nice. He'd never shared that with anyone. He would feel bad for telling on his father. Now that his father was dead, it didn't feel as important to hide the truth.

Jones slowly nodded, let slip some concern over his face but otherwise remaining neutral. On his admittance and full body inspection was performed and in his records the burn on his palm was cataloged as another fire injury. It was the first time he got a good look at it, and he didn't entirely blame the untrained staff to have overlooked the injury, having no reason to doubt it. The scars over Arthur's features weren't the worst he'd seen, in fact while the fire melted away the epidermis and dermis the boy was rather lucky it didn't burn to the bone. The healed tissue was bad, a garish white and pink discoloration, but wasn't raised or twisted in shiny scar tissue like other poor victims. It was a miracle that his eye wasn't scoured out sooner.

"How old were you?" He just felt so sad for the boy. He didn't deserve to be treated that way, abused by someone he trusted. It was horrible when people hurt others.

Arthur continued looking away. "Twelve," he stated. He had a faraway look in his eyes. "He did the same thing to my brother when he was six. It was for slander of our priest. My brother said he was being touched in bad places at church and my father held his hand over the stove when mum wasn't home, then beat him with a belt for lying. ...I didn't like the priest either, but I knew to keep my mouth shut. ...and my brother hadn't lied," he explained. His hand twitched slightly, and he took a deep breath to calm himself. It didn't bother him much talking about what his father or his priest did to him, but it hurt to talk about what happened to his younger brother. He always felt like there was something that he could've done to stop most of it. That eventually turned into a deep hatred of himself, and by this time, he was convinced he had deserved all the beatings, drownings, scars, and broken bones.

"Your priest touched your brother?" Really, he should be taking down notes, but it would be too distracting for Arthur and it risked rebuilding his walls seeing his confessions permanently on record for prying eyes to see. He had a great memory and was sure to record every single detail down to the exact quote when he had the chance. This was an interesting turn, but he wasn't surprised at all. "Your brother was only six when your congregation's priest molested him. Your father accused him of lying and beat him. Tell me how you felt at that time."

Arthur didn't speak for a long time. "I... I didn't know what to feel. I guess I was glad I never spoke up about it like he did," he murmured. "...but I also felt horrible. He was my little brother. I was supposed to protect him. It was awful to know what he was going through. ...self-hatred, disgust... The feeling that something's wrong with you... That he deserved it. Not knowing would've been worse, I guess. I wish I would've had the courage to talk to him about it. I knew it was going to happen, too. As soon as I got too old, I knew my younger brother would be taking it. In a way, I'm glad he said something. A rumor going around was enough to scare or priest into stopping, in fear of being caught." He paused. "I was jealous of my brother. He got it to stop before it went too far. Even if he did get beat, there are things that are worse than that..." He was back to staring at his lap and playing with the hem of his shirt.

An adult taking advantage over a child. There's a trip down memory lane! Oh, this was getting better and better. Did he have _any_ positive male role models? No wonder he hated Alfred so much in the beginning. "Was the priest the only person who touched you inappropriately?" With so many secrets in the family, he wouldn't be surprised if that gave those close to him incentive to take advantage of the boys without fear of retribution. In his internship in private practice, he partook in sessions with men and women who were also threatened with punishment, many of whom sacrificed their pneuma for the sake of their family's name. There were also perpetrators themselves. He dimly recalled a Spaniard who fled Italy seeking asylum after scandalizing a prominent mafia family by having an affair with one of the sons. They were all rich, well-to-do, and in paid generously for utmost confidentiality. Sometimes he missed working with patients of any worth, but Dr. Jones thought he found his niche in the asylum. Funny how that worked out.

Arthur froze for a moment. He felt like he was going to be sick. "...my uncle and my father's friends..." he muttered. He didn't want to say anymore. He didn't remember many parts of his childhood for a reason. He decided to abruptly change the subject. He wasn't going to talk about this anymore today. He couldn't handle it. "When my eye was gouged out, the guards left me to die. I yelled and pounded on the door for ten minutes and nobody came. I went to my bed and laid down to die," he said softly. "I remember trying to tell you that when I was drugged up." It was obvious that he didn't want to speak about his past anymore today.

Dr. Jones easily let it go and played along. Patients will open up when they are ready. "Francis Bonnefoy helped you, didn't he? He's a good friend... or... Well, I shouldn't tell you this," he looked slightly hesitant, as if debating with himself if he should confess the truth to Arthur. "But, when I interviewed him for what went on, Mr. Bonnefoy told me that he was doing himself a favor when he called the guards. He said he didn't want some dead Englishman stinking up the cell." He shrugged nonchalantly. "He got his way, I suppose. But I've made sure you have your own cell so it doesn't happen again. I couldn't spare a guard; they only humor me so far." He smirked as if sharing an inside joke.

It was total bullshit. Francis told him what happened with Arthur and Feliks, but he was nothing but earnest for his friend's safety having no idea if Arthur would even make it through the night. No one did. Alfred could tell that despite the Frenchman's admitted rivalry against the boy in session, at the moment of truth Francis' sympathy for the boy shone through. Dr. Jones roomed them because he thought it would be good for the boy to have some sort of social stimulation, but now that Arthur was opening up to _him_ there was no need for Francis in the picture. In fact, it would bring them even closer together if Arthur thought Francis hated him. That was his reasoning for breaking them apart.

Arthur completely froze. His mouth hung open slightly. He looked absolutely crushed. Francis had been his one friend in here, despite how many times he'd threatened the other, or given him the cold shoulder. His heart felt like it was breaking. He felt the pang of loneliness that he'd had for the past few weeks when Alfred hadn't been there. Slowly, tears started to trickle down his face. He felt as I he was going to be sick again. He put his head in his trembling hands, and let out a soft sob before completely breaking down. Aside from Alfred, Francis was the only one he'd ever had. It was awful to know that he'd be spending the rest of his life here virtually alone. Aside from... Alfred. Shaking slightly still, he looked up. "Y-You d-don't h-h-hate m-me, t-t-too, d-do y-you...?" he stuttered out past his tears. He was growing more dependent on Alfred by the minute.

"Oh, Arthur..." Alfred stood up from his seat, chair cracking loudly with his sudden movement and circled around the desk to the sobbing boy. He crouched to Arthur's level, hand resting on his shoulder. He gently rocked him, squeezing his shoulder. He whispered, because they were so close. "I don't hate you." He gently thunked their heads together, eyebrows arched imploringly and keeping eye contact. "Okay?" Arthur turned his devastated look on him and his heart skipped a beat. Oh, Arthur's face was so close. Alfred was sorely tempted to lick the salty tears all the way up to his eye and just... _suck_ there. Roaming Arthur's face, mouthing even the burnt side with lips and tongue. Alfred realized his eyelids were slipping half-mast in fantasy and blinked, realizing he was staring at the boy's trembling mouth. He resisted the urge to bite it.

Dr. Jones cleared his throat. "Well, our time is up." His eyes slowly rose, gauging Arthur's reaction. He slowly sat up, and slid the hand on his shoulder down under his arm and pulled Arthur up with him. It was irresponsible of him to give his patient the boot when he was so emotional, but he didn't know what he would do if Arthur stayed in here with him any longer. The time wasn't right and he had meticulous plans ahead of them. Sadly, he'd be left with only memory curdled with fantasy to keep him company just like the past couple of weeks. Gently he lead Arthur out the door, opening it for him as per usual, and keeping the gentleman facade right to the very end until he closed the door again. He slouching against the door and sighed heavily. He thought relieving himself before would curb his appetite but it was increasingly hard to restrain himself. He decided he'd cancel the next appointment for time to himself.

Arthur didn't care that Alfred was staring at him. If it was anyone else, he would get upset, assuming that they were looking at his scar. But with the doctor, he only assumed that the other was gauging his reactions or mental health. Even with Dr. Jones telling him he wasn't hated, he still felt awful about what he thought Francis had said. He looked almost devastated when Alfred said their time was up. The Englishman stood outside of the door, not entirely remembering what he was supposed to be doing. He knew he was supposed to be somewhere, but he was too light-headed to think. Maybe he should've eaten before his session with the doctor. Slowly, Alfred was replacing everything he cared about. He depended on the other, and so far hadn't been let down. Even now, he was starting to fancy Dr. Jones. He walked a few steps forward before collapsing to the ground, his body lacking any energy from not eating for the past couple of days.

Nurse Seles, practically dead on her feet after a 12 hour graveyard shift, was /not/ happy to stumble upon the last person she wanted to see right now. After the hell he put her and her colleagues through this past week, what amount of sympathy she had for the boy ran on pure fumes. She didn't forget the stunt Dr. Jones pulled in front of her in the ward, and she wasn't stupid not to suspect something fishy was up, but it was amazing how easily sympathy when Arthur all but spit on his face. Her bad mood only soured and she seriously considered walking over him and leaving his fate to the next sorry Samaritan. Probably Dr. Jones, whose office was close by.

She glared at the doctor's office door as if it could provide the answers. She wondered if it was Jones or Arthur's anemia that made him collapse. _It's not my business. I'm just a nurse, so who would believe me anyway? Bastards._ She propped the boy halfway up with her arms around the back of his torso, hefting the lightweight boy and dragging him into the main room where someone helpful could take it from there. "We have no more IVs, you bastard," she hissed in his ear. All of them were used up during Arthur semi-conscious state OD recovery. A nondescript guard came over and lifted him bodily over his shoulder and marched into the patients' wing and Arthur's marked cell. True to Alfred's words, he had the room all to himself. The guard dropped him into bed with more care than Gilbert would have. He tossed the boy a packet of dried fruit Nurse Seles smuggled with him despite herself, and without a look back exited the cell, securing the lock before he left.

Arthur woke a few hours later, slightly confused. He didn't know where he was, (though he could assume it was his new room) and he wasn't sure how he'd gotten there. Remembering his session with Alfred only made his heart ache. Francis... The doctor had given him enough fuel to begin hating the Frenchman. He looked over to his side to see the dried fruit, and quickly ate the entire package. All he could think about was his next meeting with Alfred. A slight blush crept onto his face as he thought of Dr. Jones. He was _really_ starting to like the other man. Well, more... Depend on him. Either way, he was starting to feel attracted toward the other. After all, Alfred was his only friend, the only one who had ever really listened to him, the only one who really seemed to care, and his only source of affection. He laid on his back, staring at the ceiling, and wondering when their next meeting would be.

As much as Dr. Jones would have loved to, he could not see Arthur every day. Although he wasn't the sole clinician in the lunatic asylum, the inpatient population was appallingly congested. It was tragic to see such an unbalanced number of schizophrenic sufferers, but many of the patients dumped here were from public agencies that didn't want to deal with them, and in here were redressed as "criminally insane". Alfred didn't particularly mind because they provided amusing anecdotes. In fact, Arthur was one of those "criminally insane". Only special cases like Feliciano, who had such a terrible history with sexual abuse he literally regressed into boyhood, could compete with those. Speaking of which... Alfred flipped through his files and was pleased to see little Feli was on today's schedule. Jones wore a bright grin. He was a good distraction from Arthur for now.


	7. Help

Four days. It's been four days since Arthur was admitted from the med ward and since then he was getting along much better. Whatever Dr. Jones did to convince the boy, he was finally eating and even said "thank you" once to a nurse who brought him food. He was still in isolation, likely because he was still healing and sensitive around peoples' presence after what happened with Feliks. _Pain in the ass, though,_ thought Gilbert, swinging the keys around his forefinger. He was ordered to take Arthur back out into the communal room for open air and the chance to socialize (or at least be near) the other patients. Gilbert was also ordered to keep an eye out for Arthur who, for all his bitching, was fine with him. He didn't actually harbor ill will towards the boy. Even before the boy's formal admittance he followed the trial because Elizabeta had talked about it. God only knew why, but the woman harbored sympathy for him. ("Isn't it a little fucking morbid to sympathize with some rich kid homicidal murderer?" he asked her once. "Yes. However," she raised an eyebrow at him. "Haven't _you_ ever wanted to kill your parents?")

He unlocked and opened the door to Arthur's cell. The boy was on his cot, as per usual. "Okay, boy." He pulled Arthur up and slapped on the cuffs. "We're going to the activity room. You miss the others, right? No man is an island, and all of that." He jerked on the chain linking the cuffs. "If you behave I might even take these off one day. Come on." He led the boy out of his room, trailing after him as he walked out.

Arthur had been attempting to be nice to everyone. He was in a better mood now than he had been his entire stay at the asylum. He still got in moods, and they only got worse the longer he went without seeing Alfred. The doctor was the only one he had now.

He didn't complain as he was pulled out of bed by Gilbert, used to being man-handled by now. For the most part, the patients weren't even seen as humans. Hell, Arthur was almost positive that sometimes their pets were probably treated better than the "problemed" individuals in the hospital. Though, he found that the nicer he was, and the more polite, the better he got treated. Considering he was going to spend the rest of his life here, it would do him some good. Well, unless he managed to escape. He wasn't quite sure that was the answer, though. After all, he had no one in the outside world. And it also seemed that Jones was the only one who had ever understood him. So, he remained silent until they were in the hallway. Something had been on his mind, though. Bugging him.

Gilbert raised his eyebrow at Arthur's back. Well, this was a first. Arthur never initiated conversation with him. He figured he held a grudge about the eye incident. Gilbert would have ignored the boy but his curiosity was piqued. "Yeah, what is it?" He crept closer behind him, intuitively figuring that whatever Arthur made him privy on was good blackmail material.

Arthur smiled sadly. He spoke softly, as to not be overheard. "I... I know what Dr. Jones is doing. I know exactly how easy for him it is to do it. I'm not an idiot. But I'm going to be here for the rest of my life. ...and I'm only seventeen." He looked to the ground. "As long as I have one person who cares about me... As long as I matter to someone, and as long as someone can matter to me... Then I don't think I care anymore. I'm letting go." The Englishman turned his head slightly towards Gilbert. "It might seem strange for me to be telling you this, considering we aren't on the greatest of terms... But I have no one else to tell, and I just wanted at least one person to know before I lost myself. At this point, I'm not sure if I'm innocent or not. ...but I don't think it matters. This is where I'll live the rest of my life, either way. I had dreams. Just like anyone else..." He shook his head with a slightly-bitter laugh. "...and now they're gone."

Gilbert's eyes that were scanning the doors for eavesdroppers slid to Arthur's face, studying his profile. He was shocked, yet somehow not surprised. He thought the boy was an ignorant, spoiled pathetic brat that fell into Dr. Jones' trap and _deserved it._ Somehow this new awareness from Arthur left him inexplicably angry. He held no sympathy for defeatists who rolled over and died, but didn't _enjoy_ watching it happen like Alfred did. "What am I, your priest?" Gilbert huffed and pulled back. His pace quickened spurring Arthur on. Quite a time passed while Gilbert mulled over his words until they were almost at the common room. "So is this your last word, or your confession?" he asked lightly.

Arthur was somehow unsurprised. He hadn't been sure if the man would care or not. Obviously he had not. He grit his teeth at the first sarcastic sentence, having it bring up horrible memories. Once they were right outside of the room, he turned to look at Gilbert. "Excuse me for thinking that you would actually care. How stupid of me. Just remember that you don't know _anything_ about me, or my life. I tried to stay strong, but what the fuck do you _expect_ me to do?" he snapped. Then, he turned around, smiling, but looking as if he was fuming. "...and if you were my priest, I'd be in your bed by now." he said lowly. He had tears in his eyes. So, his first assumption had been right. Nobody but Alfred cared, or would ever care.

Gilbert fisted his hands on his hips, rolling his red eyes at the dramatics. "Oh, cry me a river." he said, blatantly mocking the tears. He felt more comfortable, now that Arthur was angry again. The priest bit didn't escape him, and it was like another puzzle piece that clicked into place. Of course it made sense. What he learned about the boy throughout his pleasant stay piled into his understand of the boy, and he didn't like what he saw. Somehow the boy and his words got to him and he hated the vulnerability that came with caring. With the heel of his palm he gave a last knock against Arthur's chest, pushing him into the common room and turned his heels to leave. So who cared the boy wasn't supervised. Who gave a shit?

Arthur stumbled into the room. He looked around for a moment, glad to see that his little conversation with Gilbert hadn't been overheard, or disrupted anything in the room. He went in, and sat down in a chair near the corner. He wasn't sure why he was so upset about this. He expected it, after all. Though, he supposed that this had been his last hope... His last resort. Maybe a sign that he was worth caring about other than from Dr. Jones strange infatuation with him. The entire time in the common room, he sat and stared at the floor. With this, his self-hatred only grew. He was trapped, now, though. It felt like the walls of the asylum were slowly closing in on him. He was actually slightly surprised that no one came to talk to him. He was glad Francis hadn't, though. ...he wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle that.

Feliciano slowly waddled into the room, rubbing his behind with a wince. Dr. Jones was getting meaner and meaner. He looked slightly distressed and tired, scanning to room for someone to play with and perked up when he saw Arthur. "Perked up" was an understatement. The boy was positively elated to see his friend and he dashed over to him, pain forgotten and threw himself bodily over Arthur with his whole weight, top siding the chair along with a distressed Briton and a cheerful Italian man on top of him.

"Arthur!" Feliciano gushed in his ear, crowding the boy farther into his tight hug. For all the boy's gentle nature, he was surprisingly strong. Feliciano turned his head to rest on Arthur's shoulder, face turned towards the boy. "Oh Arthur how I've missed you I was so scared you were going to die you were bleeding everywhere then mean Gilbert took you away and they took Feliks away but left his blanket and then Francis and I were all alone and it was so sad and lonely!" Feliciano looked like he was about to cry just thinking about it. Then the green shined in mirth. "Wait till Francis hears you are safe he's going to be so happy!" he piped.

Arthur hadn't noticed Feliciano come in the room. When the chair fell, he let out a surprised yelp, but made no move to get up, as anyone could obviously see that the boy on top of him was in no hurry to get up, himself. He was about to laugh, and maybe even admit that it was nice seeing the child-like Italian, as well, until the mention of Francis made his blood run cold. "I'm sure he is," he muttered in a hard tone. "Do him the favor and tell him I'm dead."

All the mirth slipped off the boy-child's face as Feliciano looked at him with wide green eyes shining with un-shed tears. "B-but why...?" Feliciano sniffed, crying for real. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve only for more tears to fall, looking on with a forlorn stare. "How can you say such a mean thing? Friends don't say mean things to each other." His lower lip wobbled. "Francis and I were so worried about you... they said you..." Finally noticing the Italian boy gasped in shock at Arthur's glass eye shining milky and blank back at him. Siting up and about to crab-crawl away, by some miracle he didn't bolt in fear but stayed with Arthur. "Oh, Arthur..." He plopped back down in his lap and petted his hair like he would a dog. "Did it hurt?" He bit his plump lower lip, knowing the answer but holding out on the wish it wasn't true.

Arthur looked away. "...some friend he is..." he muttered under his breath lowly. He felt slightly hurt as Feli was about to back away, but was glad when he didn't. "Of course it hurt," he murmured. "They didn't have any anesthetic when they put it in. It was a day after the surgery." At least he knew that Feliciano wasn't feigning their friendship. The boy was too much of a child... Too innocent to do something like that. He was just happy to have someone. Though, he couldn't talk to the other about serious issues, or have adult conversations with him. It wasn't a relationship of equals, as he would've liked. Though, it was still better than nothing.

"But you're all right now...?" Feliciano smiled, ever the optimist. He wiped his messy face with a cute final sniff, finally clear of sadness. "Let's go play!" Arthur was pulled up so hard he had whiplash as Feli tugged him along to the center of the room. "Franci- me and my friend like to play hide and seek! It's a game where you cover your eyes and count back from 10 and look for your friend that hides from you. Well sometimes my friend makes me hide and forgets to go look for me, but it's a fun game! You're new so you're It!" Feliciano was practically squirming on the spot, anxious with excitement at playing with a new friend. "Cover your eyes, Arthur!" he cried.

Arthur nodded, not wanting to make the other any less happy. He stumbled along after the man, blinking skeptically. Of course he knew what hide-and-seek was. It seemed a little childish... Then again, Feli was a child. Come to think about it, so was he. He wasn't even legally an adult yet. Maybe he should just let go for a bit and relax. It would be nice to forget for a little while. He managed a smile. "All right," he laughed, then covered his eyes. "You said to count backwards from ten, correct?"

"That's right!" Feliciano called back, rushing away from Arthur's left and already giving his location away. "And no peeking!" he sang from somewhere suspiciously close to the couches Arthur passed when he sat down. Feliciano hunkered down behind it with only his bright green eye peeking out from the top of the couch, watching Arthur until the very last second. He jumped in start crying "Ve!" when his head was unexpectedly patted as someone walked by making their way straight to Arthur who had his eyes covered.

As Arthur counted a warm hand covered Arthur's hands. Dr. Jones stepped up close behind him grinning into his ear. "Having fun here, I see." When Arthur tried to lower his hands Alfred them together a moment longer before letting go. He stepped back, hands clasped behind his back as he looked on to Arthur with amusement. A subtle grin played on his lips as he gazed at the boy. It was two weeks since their parting and Arthur looked healthier (but he didn't look _healthy_). He was pleased to see he was eating more and somewhat thriving, as much as a withered flower could without sunlight. Smile growing, he wondered if Arthur was happy to see him. _He_ was happy to see Arthur.

Arthur laughed to himself. Feliciano could be cute in his child-like innocence. When he wasn't being irritating, anyway. He was about to take his hands off of his eyes until he felt another pair of hands eclipse them. He blinked under his own hands, recognizing the voice, a smile immediately forming on his lips. He was definitely healthier since the last time Alfred had seen him. He still held his pale appearance, considering he hadn't seen the sunlight in months, and was seriously lacking vitamin D, but other than that, he had gained some weight, and the bags under his eyes were slightly less prominent. He felt slightly embarrassed that the doctor had caught him playing childish games, and in turn, laughed nervously and glanced away. "Feliciano wanted to play hide and seek," he explained. Even though he knew what Alfred was doing, he truly believed that in some sense, the other _did_ care about him.

Jones didn't comment on Arthur's transparent excuse, only smiling. "Thought I'd summons you myself as a nice surprise." With a gentle finger he turned Arthur's face back to him. His embarrassment was adorable and he looked more his age. He doubted Arthur often looked as free as a boy his age should even before he came here, distinctly imagining him as the one in school who'd never socialize and was always by himself with a book. It was a shame; he never saw Arthur in the flesh before he was injured, only seeing his undamaged face in monochrome paper. Soft as a feather he swiped the crook of his finger across the boy's jaw before dropping his hand to his side. Sights still on Arthur he turned halfway to their little spectator who was half obscured behind the couch, and who apparently thought he couldn't be seen by the way he jumped when Alfred called out to him. "Feli, I apologize but I'm going to steal Arthur from you." The Italian boy looked very lonely but nodded obediently at the floor, sinking down behind the couch until he was out of sight.

Alfred, having never fully turned his attention away from the boy, offered him his suit jacket-clad arm. "Shall we?"

Arthur's smile never faltered, though his face was dusted red with embarrassment. Without really realizing it, he leaned into the doctor's touch. That was always nice. Aside from Feli, who he'd just seen for the first time, in what must've been over a month, Alfred was the only one who gave him any sort of physical affection. ...or any affection, for that matter. Maybe that's why he was finding himself slowly slipping deeper and deeper into Jones' trap. He didn't catch what the other actually meant when talking about stealing him, and only thought of the time being as the man offered his arm. He linked his own arm with the other's, slightly startled by the contrast between them. It became more apparent as their arms were right next to each other. His skin was noticeably paler, he was wearing the standard patient's uniform, and over all, he just seemed so unprofessional while standing at the other's side. Although, it wasn't strange to him to not feel as an equal would around the doctor. His hair was also getting rather long, and he had some stubble growing longer than his liking on his chin. He nodded. "...can I get a haircut and a shave sometime soon...?" he questioned.

"Ah! That's right, the nurse usually trims your hair. Life's been quite hectic, hasn't it?" _There's_ an understatement. Patients, even the women, were kept with short or shaved hair to avoid lice and dirt buildup. The men's faces were often shaven for this reason, too. Arthur looked a little scrappy with his erratic hair tufting up every which way. Even when it was short his hair was somewhat untamed. It was a little funny to look at, but he learned from experience when he was searching Arthur's boundaries the first few weeks that he was _not_ to comment on his hair. Arriving at his office Dr. Jones led them in, locking the door behind him, but instead of wandering to his desk chair he spun around Arthur's usual chair facing the couch and settled down comfortably into it. He propped his glasses farther up his nose and gestured vaguely to the couch. "Make yourself comfortable."

Arthur laughed softly and nodded. It was strange how used to everything he'd gotten. Just getting into the routine of things at the hospital, and being in the hospital in the first place. It had become normalcy, as much as he hated to admit it. Not that it meant he liked it here. No... He still hated every bit of it. He was glad that the physical therapy had been forgotten over the past month that he'd been recovering. Faintly, he remembered that Dr. Jones had scheduled electro-shock therapy for the day after his accident. In the panic of everything, it had gotten forgotten, and pushed to the side. He could only hope it stayed that way. It was slightly surprising to see the doctor sit in his chair. The only places left for him to sit would be in Alfred's usual chair, or on the couch.

He liked the office. Everything in it was homey. Even the couch. It wasn't like the cheap, over used couches in the common room. It was more like one you would find in someone's home. He supposed he was comfortable enough now to on the couch. At least he still had personal space. Anything that could remind him of home. Or, a home. Not necessarily his own. He just missed being in a welcoming, warm house instead of a damp, diseased, and cold hospital. He sat on the couch, almost directly across from the other. "Why the couch today?" He simply couldn't help but wonder. Though, it was a nice change.

Arthur not objecting was a good sign. "We're going to try something new. How do I explain it... it's /kind/ of like hide and seek." Alfred drawled, smiling teasingly. He'd swiped a clipboard and pen on the way to the chair and both rested nicely on his lap. He turned up the nib of the fountain pen. "Except I'm the one looking. We're going to do something called hypnotherapy." His hand shot up in objection before Arthur's mind caught up to any painful scenarios. "Don't worry; it doesn't hurt. Promise. Nothing painful happens here in this room. I give you my word on that." That much was true. It was advantageous to offer safety zones for Arthur so the boy knew what and what not to expect. It was also like priming Arthur into different states of mind. If he was tensed in his cell, he would love staying in Dr. Jones' welcoming office space, and more willing to comply with Jones to stay. "Lie down and relax."


	8. Murder

((This is the longest chapter in the story so far. Warnings... Mature audiences only. Extreme mentions of gore, mentions of violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, and molestation. Please don't read if you have a weak stomach. This chapter explains, in detail, how Arthur murdered his family.))

Arthur stared at him, slightly confused. He thought he might have heard of something similar, but he couldn't entirely recall what it was. Either way, he trusted the doctor to an extent, and felt as though he could believe Alfred when he said it wouldn't be painful. He smiled nervously, but ultimately nodded, and laid down on the couch. It was so much easier to relax here than it was in his cell. He'd been having a little bit of trouble sleeping because of that. "Your couch is more comfortable than my bed," he commented, slightly sleepy, with a laugh. He could've fallen asleep right then.

"Don't fall asleep just yet," Alfred chuckled, a little alarmed. He bucked the chair close to Arthur's side so his knees were touching the couch. When he propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward he practically obstructed Arthur's view of anything else. Jones pushed his glasses farther up his face, hair over his bright blue eyes as he looked down with a handsome smile. "Just do what I say and it will be fine. Lie comfortably on your back with your arms to your sides." When Arthur did so he straightened out Arthur's shirt that rode up his stomach when he settled, smoothing it off wrinkles, a strangely parental gesture. He flashed Arthur another beaming smile and unclipped his favorite fountain pen from his breast pocket, twirling it in front of Arthur's face like he did last time. "I want to you focus on my pen. Just the gold bit at the tip. I'm going to move it upward and I want you to follow it with your eyes without moving your head. When it gets uncomfortable to look at it say "yes." Do you want me to repeat that?"

Arthur smiled nervously at Alfred, then shivered slightly as his stomach was touched. He was a little wary about this, but he knew he could trust Alfred. He was glad to hear that it wouldn't hurt, though. With a deep breath, he was about to nod, but instead mumbled a quick "Yes," to the directions, trying to follow the direction of keeping his head still. "No," he said quietly, having heard all of the other's directions quite clearly. He continued smiling at the doctor, putting his trust within him, which was something he didn't do often. He waited for the other to start.

Dr. Jones turned the pen horizontally at Arthur's eye level, pen point right above his working eye, and slowly drew it upward above his head. Eventually Arthur indicated him to stop and he froze the pen several inches above his head. Arthur felt a slight strain in only one eye, his nerve endings and muscle in the left having no functional purpose anymore. Alfred paused to stare at the milky white frozen in his eye socket. It was in the side with his horrible scars and reminded him of the recent novel The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hide. He wondered how Arthur would enjoy that comparison.

"Now keep focusing on this pen without moving your head. Put all your resources into looking at this pen. Think of how much you want to close your eye, and how pleasant it will feel when you close them." Dr. Jones' voice tuned lower and softer as he went on. "Now I want you to imagine your eye getting heavier without closing them. Imagine how pleasant it will be when you allow them to close. Now when you're ready for us to begin the therapy, allow your eyelids to become nice and comfortable. Only when you're ready for us to begin will you close your eyes." Alfred, though he had not moved from his seat, spoke softer and softer as if he was whispering into Arthur's ear. It was difficult for himself to focus on the induction with his mind in gutter thinking of other things to make Arthur roll up his eyes up but he suppressed the impulse by silently reminding himself how much fun we was going to have soon. "Wait until you're ready and close your eyes naturally... good boy."

Arthur listened carefully to everything he was being told. He slowly lost focus on everything else aside from the pen, and Alfred, and closing his eyes. Oh... That would feel so nice. Incredible, really. He was relaxing completely, though unaware of it. He didn't even have time to stop and think of how strange this felt. All he could focus on was right here, right now. What was in front of him. The pen, Alfred's voice. At the moment, that was all that existed, and that was fine with him. Eventually, after a few minutes of straining to keep his eyes open, he slowly allowed them to close, his face blank. He was in such a relaxed state, that it could've been mistaken for sleeping.

Jones slowly dropped his hand, voice never wavering. "Your body is relaxed and you are completely open in your mind. I want you to sink deeper and deeper into your mind. Go as slowly as you want, take as long as you want. Drift down deep into your mind. Notice your breathing, notice my voice. Sink lower." He repeated the last words again, calmly but sedately, until he was confident his patient was perfectly slated clear of idle consciousness. Dr. Jones picked up the medical clipboard, checked his watch and jotted down a few brief notes. "We're going to go back to the night of December 5th, 1946 when your house burned down and your parents died. You were in the men's drawing room and it was nighttime. Your father was yelling at you for something you did. What did you do?"

He didn't want to immediately put Arthur on the defense. By what circumstances transpired before the murders were dubious, but both the public defender and prosecutor agreed that a familial dispute took place a few hours earlier. For what reason it was debated, but Alfred tended to side with the offense. Asking Arthur about neutral details was the best way to get the boy to open up.

Arthur couldn't speak louder than a soft, low tone. It wasn't so much as a mumble... For it was spoken clear. Despite the question, he remained calm. "I... I was touching myself. I usually did it every night around that time. I was always sure that he was asleep. He woke up and found me doing it. Then, he started yelling. Like he usually did before I got beaten. He'd caught me doing it once before, so I got defensive. I started trying to make excuses, but it only made him more angry," he explained. It was surprisingly easy for him to say that. In the state he was in, the words just flowed out of him, as if his mouth had no filter. In this state, he didn't care, either. About what he was saying. He might be mortified when he was conscious again, but at the moment he seemed at peace with what was happening.

"You were touching yourself when your father found you," he reflected back to him calmly. _That_ _much_ was argued by the prosecutor on behalf of the witness' testimony. Sure she had a good mind to besmirch the boy's name in her final hours after he torched her, but by his personal experience unspeakable things happened behind closed doors, even in a household that high society blatantly denied happening in their circles. Arthur's family was less rich and elitist than his own but he had no reason to believe otherwise, especially having the product of a severely repressed social class on the couch right in front of him, forcing out buried memories in an hypnotic state. "He yelled at you, and you were going to get beaten for masturbating again."

He remembered listening to Arthur's trial on the radio between sessions. The scandalizing detail almost cut the broadcast from air but only made it popular. It certainly piqued Dr. Jones' interest, maybe for different reasons than the rest of the public, and was when he started to seriously pay attention. Sensitive issues such as Arthur's supposed masturbation addiction were never publicized on print, but it was one of the demonizing profiles that damned Arthur to guilt (and fame). They certainly dragged the boy through the mud in the trial.

"Yes," Arthur murmured. His breathing remained calm. He couldn't even feel his lips moving; he only heard himself speak. "He dragged me out into the drawing room, then yelled for my brother and mother to 'get the fuck in here, now.' He always thought it was better to beat me in front of them. I don't know why. Maybe as an example. My brother wouldn't get up when he was called, so my father went in the other room and grabbed him and dragged him into the living room, too. He was crying. I think I was, too. My mother was telling him to stop, and saying that I won't do it again. I remember getting hit across the face with his belt." He paused. "That's it. Everything from that point until I woke up in the hospital is blank."

"You do remember, Arthur," Jones insisted quietly. "You do know what happened after your father hit you in the face with his belt." Alfred leaned over and casually flipped the boy's shirt up, revealing the smooth youthful skin of his stomach and chest. He traced a fingertip down from the sternum to the top of his pants over the line of hair that trailed from his belly button. He started skimming his hand over Arthur's flesh with interest. It was the first time he had the chance of touching the boy so freely. His imagination only stimulated him so much. To have the real thing after such longing and wait was well worth it, and Arthur's confession only excited him more. "You got angry and started screaming at your father and your mother. What did you say?" he asked distractedly, pushing the shift farther up his chest as he smoothed his hand underneath it to touch his throat.

Arthur looked distressed and conflicted at this point. He wasn't aware of what was being done, but his mind was processing what was being said. His features went blank again. "Arthur didn't do anything, Dr. Jones." Tapping into his subconscious had been the key the entire time. "There are reasons why he doesn't remember. Would you care to know what I've done...?" he questioned, though his voice was nearly monotone. With how relaxed he still was, it was as if he was trapped inside his own mind. He didn't even know about the hands running over his body. Though... It was evident that the man before him was no longer Arthur.

Alfred's hand froze in its ministrations and his eyes shot up to his face. He watched the boy carefully as he spoke and slowly drew his hand out from underneath his shirt. Arthur changed; his youthful face pinched in distress suddenly smoothed into a serene detachment. Even his voice changed. Alfred leaned back slowly, a grin growing wide across his face. "Hello," he greeted softly. He picked up his notes again and swiftly wrote in shorthand. "Who am I speaking to?" he asked. Ha, he knew it! Dr. Jones' heart pounded with excitement, not just at this new character that awoke but because he was _right_. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for his genius and intuition. He knew he went into the right profession. He had barely remembered about feeling Arthur up.

"England," this other persona replied. "And if you'd like to know about that night's events, then I'd be happy to tell you. The father. He seemed as a good, hardworking husband and father would be. Though, everyone secretly knew. Nobody speaks up, though. Eventually I couldn't stand to watch Arthur get hurt. ...even if he did deserve it. I strangled father until his heart stopped beating. Though, by then, the mother and younger sibling had seen everything. I think they'd been to shocked to do anything. I couldn't just let them be. Their death was quicker. I slit their throats with a kitchen knife. There was so much blood. It was wonderful. I set them all three up on the couch. Yes, one big, happy family, as they were always thought to be. Then, I carved them all beautiful smiles. But I cut out their eyes, and stabbed their ears. They never saw anything, or heard anything. Only smiled. So, this depiction of them was so much more accurate. Obviously I couldn't just leave the bodies as they were. So I grabbed the container of gasoline from the garage, and doused their bodies in it. I turned behind me to see the maid, who's presence I had apparently neglected the entire time. Before she could say a word, I poured the remaining gasoline on her, then lit a match. Oh, you should've seen it. Beautiful. A family at their finest, and a real sight to behold. I stayed to watch too long, and he got a little burnt up. I never meant for Arthur to get hurt. But I had to stay and see my finest accomplishment carried out. I did get out in time, though you already know that. I passed out from what must've been smoke inhalation on the front lawn. I got to see the house as it was burning. ...showing all the neighbors, and the rest of London what a happy family really was. That house ablaze was the second most horrifically beautiful thing I'd ever seen, aside from his family being on fire, of course. I don't think they would've had enough evidence to convict us if that little fucking whore didn't escape with her life. I should've carved her up with the rest of them." He sighed. "Mistakes are in the past, though. ...and she's six feet under by now, I do believe."

England? His name was _England_? Patients have claimed to be Santa Claus and the Cleopatra, but never a personification of a _country_. Alfred bit his lip from laughing. Oh boy. But England quickly sobered him up as the detached gentleman recounted the horrific events of that night. Halfway through the story Alfred stopped taking notes and sat wide-eyed and riveted as this man's droll voice (because he _was_ a man, he even sounded like one) spoke with fondness about mass-murdering a family. Following England's story a tense silence filled the room with only Alfred's swelling breath between them. Dr. Jones worked his jaw a few times, wiping his side of his open mouth as he collected himself. He stared at his disjointed notes before remembering to read them. "So it was you, Mr. England, who killed Arthur's family," he confirmed unnecessarily. Head still lowered Alfred turned up his eyes, staring straight at the man as if he could look back. "You're quite something. It's not everyday someone renders me speechless." He quirked a corner of his mouth. "When was the first time you took over Arthur's body?" Wording it as to imply Arthur's split personality willfully summons himself, rather than Arthur coping with trauma, was a good tactic.

England waited in the silence, almost unnoticing as Alfred processed the information. "Yes, I killed his family," he replied to the other's first statement. He was still for a moment, pondering the latter question. "It was... I believe when the boy was only around fourteen. He was with his priest, alone; I'm guessing you can fill in the blanks with what he's already told you, but the man was being particularly rough with him. He was used to taking shit from his father... But I suppose I tired of seeing him in pain. He was just a boy, after all. I stopped in the middle of what they were doing, and turned towards the man with a glare. It was if he instantly knew something was wrong. Dumb fuck probably assumed he was possessed. _Anyway_, I turned to him, and said, 'I swear on everything that is holy, if you want to keep your job, your balls, and your life, you will _never_ do this again. You'll be eating four inches of lead pipe through your ass in the basement of some shit motel with no appendages, eyes, tongue, or nose. I'll sew that God damned mouth of yours shut so you can never utter another word again, and then I'll sell your body on the fucking black market to someone who's more of a whore than you. Then, you can have fun with the rest of your pathetic life as a sex toy to the shit of this Earth, and you'll wonder why in God's name you ever fucked with Arthur Kirkland.' He just sat there, staring at me, as if he didn't understand what I had said. Well... Who would? He was fourteen. I was in the body of a fourteen year old, and uttered something such as that. I picked up his clothing, got dressed, and walked out. He never laid a finger on Arthur again."

Dr. Jones chuckled and wrote in his notes, getting an amount of vicarious joy from that anecdote. "That's swell. That's really swell." Alfred unconsciously dropped the doctor act, feeling more comfortable with a person than he ever had in years. He felt like he could really get along with England, if only he were... real. He wrote a little harder before dotting the last sentence with a full stop. "Besides the family thing," he added flippantly, "have you ever acted out on violent urges? Have you ever hurt anybody else? Have you hurt Arthur?" He gestured vaguely to the scars on the top of Arthur's thighs, though England obviously could not see them. He figured Arthur did those to himself but it didn't hurt asking. It was silly to ask so many questions at once but Alfred was very interested and feeling increasingly out of character. He normally hated the feeling but somehow England set him at ease. As sick as it sounded, it was the truth. Confessing to horrible deeds, especially those more horrific than his, gave him confidence to lower his self-monitoring.

England was silent for a moment, and then smiled. "Only when he deserved it," he admitted. "Though, if you're referring to the scars on his legs or arms, then no. That was of his own doing. I have broken his nose. ...and thrown him down the stairs..." The smile never faltered from his face. "He deserves it for never standing up for himself. If he would've fought, then I wouldn't hurt him. He doesn't know about me, though. He always thought it was his father. There were several occasions where he was beaten so badly that he had issues with memory. I gave him a concussion once. That was... for forgetting to clean the dishes. I suppose it wasn't necessary, because when his father got home, he got beaten worse. Aside from the family, the maid, and Arthur, there were a few others. It was slightly amusing to see him so confused over why his friends would suddenly start avoiding him. There was a point in time where any time he became angry, I would easily slip in to take his place. ...that was nice. I rarely ever show my face any longer, though. Aside from that little incident with the pen that we had in your office. I'm sure you remember that. Oh, and when I exchanged some words with the queer who took Arthur's eye. That was afterwards."

"You put the pen to my neck?" Alfred clattered the pen on the clipboard, blinking owlishly and sounding unironically innocent. He openly grimaced. "How stupid of me not to notice." Then he shrugged it off and continued on his note taking. He imagined the boy, fifteen years old, thrown to the ground by his father and bludgeoned with fists or a blunt object again and again, and when he was fourteen, fucked against the sinner's side of the confession booth by his priest with blood all over his backside and thighs. Cutting open his skin with a razor to relieve the pain and anxiety killing him inside. Not even Arthur was safe from himself. England's stories told like colored films in his head and he sighed from the stimulation. "Poor Arthur, not a friend in the world. But he has you to protect him. What on Earth do you think of me, I wonder?" he said out loud, his internal filter turned off and not really thinking about what he was saying.

England's grin got wider. "It was incredibly stupid for you not to notice. ...but I like you. So does he. He likes you for different reasons, though. He believes this lie you're spinning for him, but he thinks he knows the truth at the same time. ...so misguided... But as for myself? I like you because you keep him in line, but you don't go too far with things. Except with openly admiring his scar. That actually /really/ hurt him. I suppose you probably meant for it to, though, correct? Ah. Never mind that, though. I know your true intentions. I honestly don't care as long as he's happy. It seems he has a growing dependence on you. You're making sure of that. Anyway... With his family dead, he will be happy, as sad, and pathetic as that is. He grew a hatred towards every one of them, even if he wasn't aware of that himself. But... Yes, I like you. I suppose it wouldn't do harm to let you stay."

"Ah, is that so." He tapped his pen to his open mouth, gazing at England sidelong. He was a tad miffed feeling like England _allowed_ him to manipulate Arthur, pride furthermore dampened finding out even Arthur saw through him, too. He felt inferior and as rare as it was, he _really_ hated that. "I'd take him anyway," he challenged. Then he smiled sweetly. "I'd take you, too. I bet you'd like that. The priest, his father's friends, or who knows, can't compare to me." Alfred's grin widened, and he would have looked stunningly handsome were he not so miserably pathetic. "Would you be jealous if I took him first before you? You can open your eyes and move a little, but I'm in control of his body." Alfred looked out the window contemplatively. "How should I fuck him, England? Over my desk? Over a gurney in the lower floors? I could give him to Ivan after." He sneaked a peek at England before continuing. "Or I can fuck _you_, right now. You can open your eyes and squirm at best, but I'm in control of both yours _and_ Arthur's body."

England's breath hitched. He hadn't thought of that. He tried to move, but couldn't manage, and began to panic slightly. He was tensed now, which was the only noticeable change. "D-Don't you dare fucking touch me..." he muttered. "I'm not afraid to kill you," he said, quickly. For the first time, he wasn't in control, and it terrified him. Though, he hadn't realized it until now. Usually, it was _Arthur_ who wasn't in control. He desperately tried to sink back into the man's mind... To let him take control again. It wasn't working. Technically, nobody had ever done anything harmful to him. Not while he was in control of Arthur's body, anyway. After trying to move for the thousandth time in what could've only been about a minute, a small, almost inaudible, whimper of fear escaped him. Things had never been like this before. He didn't know what to do.

Alfred laughed good-naturedly at the threat. "Oh, you don't mean that..." he replied slyly, creeping up closer so he was once again above his visual range. The shirt, already bunched at the armpits from his earlier game displayed to him Arthur's slender torso. He gently lowered his hand over the boy's chest so only his fingertips moved underneath England's desperately heaving chest. Did England know it only excited him more? His eyes greedily drank in the heaving stretch of taut skin over bony ribs and how the rest of his body shuddered after his lungs emptied for more air. His earlier intention seemed even more tempting now that he had a more active (yet not more _willing_) partner. He adored Arthur's unbalanced act between open defiance, rebellion, and sad passivity, but it was England's fault for getting him worked up with images of violence he so pridefully bragged about. It looked like pride was England's undoing. He _had_ to test Alfred's kindness. "To be honest, I was hoping you'd be up for it," he admitted. He swept his hand over Arthur's throat and pushed his head all the way back with his flat palm. Arthur, or England, looked indubitably vulnerable right then.

England panicked further at the fingers on his chest. Screaming crossed his mind for a moment. ...but that wasn't how this game was played for him... He always had a way of getting back in control... "I..." No one would come for him, anyway. He was trembling slightly. Unlike Arthur, he could _feel_ this. His eyes opened as his head was pushed back. Panic filled them, but he still found that he couldn't move. "S-Stop," he choked out. This was awful. It was just... He'd _never_ dealt with something like this before. It had always been Arthur taking the beatings and bruises and abuse. Aside from when his face was burnt, he'd never had to experience pain like Arthur had. He'd never been in a situation where he wasn't on top. His throat was raw from how roughly he was panting, and he moved to the best of his ability, which was only the slight twitching of his fingers. Honestly, he would be all right with this if it was on _his_ terms. But _this_ was so far from it.

Alfred eyes were like ice as he forced England back. "Keep your head still or I really will rape you," he said coldly. He snatched his hand away and immediately descended on Arthur, roughly mouthing along his stomach and chest like he was starving. There was no grace about it; he only cared about touching his skin however way he could. Fingers and hands rushed up and down Arthur's body like the tide as Alfred dropped kisses lower and lower on his stomach before licking a stripe of skin as he pushed up again. He laved deeply at Arthur's belly button before dragging his moist lower lip up to his sternum. He breathed heavily, _shuddering_, as he attacked Arthur's throat with lips and tongue, drawing on the skin with his sucking mouth and leaving a bright array of marks all over it. He smiled at England's hateful compliance and licked the base of his throat all the way to his chin, blowing cold air over the saliva he left behind. "Good boy," he cooed around a smirk, mocking the man with his pet name for Arthur. He continued ravishing Arthur's body's positively relishing in his reward (because he _did_ see it as a reward for waiting for so long). "I deserve this," he said to himself, laying his head flat on Arthur's stomach and watching his hand swiftly slide underneath the front of Arthur's pants.

England felt tears forming in his eyes. This wasn't right. No. This didn't happen to _him_. This happened to _Arthur_. _He_ didn't cry. _Arthur_ cried. _This was not his role_. He shut his eyes tightly against the touches, trembling heavier now. He'd always been able to fight back. He'd never had to deal with something like this, and it was killing him. He felt like he was going to be sick. A few tears made their way down his face at the sick praise, but at the man's comment to himself, he grew furious. His mouth twitched slightly, to form a smile. A sick, twisted smile that did _not_ belong in a situation like this. "You deserve nothing," he spat. "You have earned nothing. You are taking this from me. And the worst part is that you're too much of a coward to fucking fight for it. You had to make me lose control of my body for this to happen. You're weak." He scoffed. "Pathetic."

Alfred froze, eyes dilated at the effect of England's words. He slowly rose, hand still cupped around Arthur's soft member as he stared right into Arthur's unseeing eyes so close he almost saw double. His breath was even now, but his heart was still racing, teeth bared over Arthur's equally ugly smile. "I wouldn't say that in your position." He squeezed Arthur pointedly, though it was unexpectedly gentle as if to prove a point. "Besides," he added, not liking the look on Arthur's face at all, "this isn't your body. You're not real. And I'm going to make Arthur kill you." Alfred smiled triumphantly, smoothed his hand over the wiry hair before delicately removing his hand. Alfred closed the remaining inches between them and kissed England deeply, clutching the man's jaw to literally muzzle any funny business. He closed his eyes momentarily, savoring the moment before abruptly pulling back. "See you around, England." He circled England's wet lip with the point of his pen before resuming his usual collected, clinical voice he used with his induced patients.

"Now, Arthur. I'm going to count down from 5, and when I finish counting down I want you to wake up again, feeling refreshed as you've ever been." The blinding rage he felt at England's accusation was slowly dissipating knowing he'd gotten the upper hand. It's a pity; he was getting along with the man. Now it looked like he'd found a new nemesis. He was looking forward to it. "5... 4... 3... 2...1..."

England twitched slightly as his member was gripped gently. His face paled. _I'm going to make Arthur kill you._ That sentence made his eyes go slightly wide. He was too shocked to even object or moved as he was kissed. The look in his eyes was replaced by pure fear. He knew Alfred wasn't bluffing. He knew it was useless to try and ask the man to stop.


	9. Sin

But his eyes went blank when the doctor referred to him as Arthur. At one, he blinked a few times, looking slightly dazed at first. Then he sat up with a smile, though he didn't remember anything that had happened. He had a slightly strange taste in his mouth, though. He dismissed it as being in the session for a long period of time. After all, sleeping could put an odd taste in your mouth... He glanced up at Dr. Jones, looking recharged and energized, but confused. "...what happened...? Did everything go well...? ...or... Did it not work?" he questioned quickly, wanting to know the outcome of the process. "Do we have to do it again?"

"You were wonderful, Arthur." Dr. Jones smiled warmly at him. Just before he came to he pulled Arthur's shirt back down and cleaned his glasses from the smear on Arthur's skin... even adjusted himself so his arousal wasn't obvious, though his libido was quickly cooling after England's parting words. Arthur looked adorable with a worried face, so eager to please. He realized he missed that look. Hate simply didn't suit that youthful face; he didn't wear it well. "I'm going to look over my notes and we'll discuss what happened when we meet again. How does that sound?" He knew Arthur was anxious to know what happened, perhaps sensing himself that something else was sharing space. It wouldn't surprise Jones if he ever drew a connection but was too in denial to admit it. He already had masturbation and self-harm on his plate; why add to his problems?

Arthur was still smiling nervously. Was it bad that he couldn't remember anything from the new therapy? He shrugged it off. If Alfred said it was fine, then it was fine. Still, he felt slightly uneasy. Though, he couldn't place why. He nodded. "When will that be...?" he questioned, sounding hopeful. Now that he was in isolation, and didn't typically get to go to the common room, Dr. Jones was the only social interaction he had aside from the guard. ...and he wasn't too fond of the latter at the moment. He wished that he could stay longer, actually. There was nothing for him to do in his cell. He might not have seen himself as crazy, but this place was sure driving him to it. Day after day the same routine, the same people, the same four walls. If he didn't find some way to entertain himself soon, he was going to die of boredom. This session had cleared some of that up, though. It had at least given him something to think about until they met again.

"Later." He didn't look up from his clipboard, scribbling in illegible shorthand doctors were notorious for. He wanted to perfectly transcribe his and England's session but he couldn't if Arthur was distracting him. "We'll see each other soon," he answered noncommittally. "But have one of the nurses cut your hair. The shaving will have to wait, I'm afraid." _For obvious reasons_. Although England could not manifest at will, there was no fail-safe way of predicting how and when Arthur could be triggered. He knew England was out for his blood now.

Dr. Jones smiled down at Arthur to buffer the rejection the boy no doubt felt. "I really am working on it. We may discuss what happened today when you return next time." He tapped the paper with his pen "I think we had a breakthrough today. It's looking up."

They exchanged goodbyes, and Arthur left, as usual. He was happy to hear that his next visit with the doctor would be soon, though he could only hope that meant within the next few weeks. It got boring. The routine, the same four walls, just sitting in his bed every day, alone, was tiring, and driving him mad. Even as he walked back to his room, the only thing on his mind was the doctor. Jones was all he had. The only one that had actually cared about _him_ when he'd asked what had happened, and not gossip, or convicting him. Not for his own selfish reasons. At least, that's what Arthur believed. The longer he spent in the asylum, the more alone he felt. At the same time, it was the boredom that _really_ got to him.

A few days after their meeting, Arthur was sitting alone in his room, as always. He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and pondering what to do. He usually just slept. He wasn't tired, though.

After a few moments, an idea crossed his mind, but he couldn't resist. His hand slowly slid inside of his pants, and he gripped himself before gasping slightly. He hadn't done this in almost a year. For some reason, his mind wandered to Alfred, and he closed his eyes and let his fantasy take place. It was no longer his hand, but the doctor's. The other was whispering words of encouragement in his ear. This felt all too familiar. Almost as if it was _right_. He began to pant softly, and gripped slightly harder; pumped faster. "H-Hah... A-Alfred..." he moaned out. He tensed as he heard the door open, lust replaced by fear as his face went white as a sheet, and he carefully opened his eyes.

"I don't care what Dr. Jones says, it is still malpractice. It is unfortunate what happened, but he is a _man_, for god's sake, he shouldn't be coddled or shown favoritism." Dr. Ludwig Beilschmidt grumbled through his thick accent. His swift long strides made it difficult for the two followers to match his pace.

"Easy for you to say, when you're doing _your_ patient a favor." Gilbert impassively eyed his smaller brother who led Feliciano by the hand to Arthur's secured room. Since reuniting with Arthur in the common room Feliciano would not shut up about Arthur and it was driving his doctor, Ludwig, up the wall. Every talk session Feli doggedly resisted Ludwig's increasingly distressed reasoning that Arthur was safe and Feliciano needed to focus on taking care of himself. Yet, Feliciano continued insufferably, bleating and crying to see Arthur again, wailing Arthur was so lonely. It was so sad to be alone. Even the mild electrotherapy Ludwig thought would improve his mood only worsened. He felt like a mother exhaustedly giving in to her insufferable child's tantrum, but he made Feliciano promise ("Pinky swear!" Feliciano exclaimed) to comply with treatment if he visited the boy. Dr. Beilschmidt felt _so_ _close_ to finally, _finally_ breaking Feliciano free of his demons and he wasn't about to let Dr. Jones' pet project ruin hope for his patient. Feliciano trotted up next to Ludwig, walking much faster to keep up, holding Ludwig's arm with the one not already held in the doctor's hand. Ludwig sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose just like the hundreds of times before when the Italian did something that exasperated him.

The trio continued on in silence until they reached Arthur's private room. Ludwig had to restrain the boy, who was acting much like an overenthusiastic untrained dog on a leash than a person, from crawling over Gilbert's back as the guard unlocked and opened the door. The moment Feliciano was freed he dashed inside and threw up his arms ready to pounce on his unwitting friend he so dearly missed when he immediately stopped short. His eyes pulsed wide in shock when he realized what Arthur was doing and covered his mouth with both hands in shock. "Arthur... that's a sin..." he whispered, voice laden with pity for his friend.

Ludwig and Gilbert shared Feliciano's initial shock, then Ludwig coughed derisively into his fist and turned away while Gilbert rubbernecked around Feli's head for a better view. He whistled appreciatively. "Seasoning your frankfurter, I see. No, don't mind us. Continue." His red eyes gleamed mischievously.

Arthur's eyes were wide, and slightly panicked. Of course, it couldn't have just been one person who caught him, it had to be three. He pulled his hand out of his pants and sat up, his legs hanging off of the bed as he stared at the ground. Not only was he embarrassed, but he was desperately afraid that he was going to get in trouble. After all, the last time he'd gotten caught was the night of the fire, and he was about to get beaten then.

Why was it the _one_ damn time he tried to do this, this had to happen? Then again, he could've been a little smarter about it. Nobody had been in to check on him in almost two hours, so it was likely that someone would be coming soon. He was mentally hitting himself for not waiting until right after someone came into his room. His face was flushed.

What was worse is that it was Gilbert, Feli, and a stranger who caught him doing this. He obviously wasn't on the best terms with Gilbert at the moment, Feliciano had the mind of a small child, and getting caught by someone he didn't know made it so much more humiliating. He was tensed and looking rather small, as if he wanted to disappear_. ...that's a sin..._ he thought, and shuddered slightly. That word always put a bad taste in his mouth. Sin. It had lost its meaning when he found out he couldn't trust his Church anymore.

At least they didn't catch whose name he was moaning. That would've made it even worse. Though, it did make it worse on himself. Homosexuality was a sin, as well. He felt horrible already. He was hoping that they'd all just leave after this, and wondering what they were doing here in the first place.

Dr. Beilschmidt quickly covered Feliciano's eyes and gathered him back away from Arthur, putting an arm around the poor boy, who was shivering and whimpering. His face was red with anger as he slowly counted down from ten. He shouldn't blame Arthur. The boy had problems and was hardly older than little Feli. Besides, he wasn't his patient. Dr. Beilschmidt closed his eyes and exhaled at the last countdown, finally settled.

"Ahem... well..." Ludwig was at a loss for words. His eyes were everywhere but on Arthur. "Feli came to visit you, but you seem to be preoccupied. Perhaps next time. _Do_ you want to see Mr. Kirkland again, Feli?" Feliciano hesitated, face bunched up against the taller man's coat, and finally nodded emphatically. He sniffled and Ludwig grimaced that another once of his coats was ruined by the boy. "For the last time, my jacket's not a handkerchief!" He whipped it away angrily and ignored his older brother's bellowed with laughter. He addressed Arthur again this time meeting his eye. "I'll set up and appointment for just the two of you- under my supervision." He gave Arthur a look as Feliciano began to whine that he was going back on his promise and changing it.

"Goodbye Arthur!" Feliciano gave Arthur a great big hug. "We'll see each other soon! Dr. Beilschmidt never breaks his promises!" He skipped out behind Ludwig, then popped his head back in sideways, ahoge defying gravity. "And don't forget to pray for forgiveness! God always forgives; he is very nice!" Gilbert, the last to leave, smirked at the boy and roughly tousled his mop of hair. "Happens to the best of us, kid." He locked the door behind him.

Arthur didn't say anything the entire time. It was actually strange how silent he was, even with the given situation. He didn't try and defend himself, or make excuses. Even when Feliciano hugged him, he remained quiet, staring at the floor. When he finally heard the door lock, a grin broke out on his face. In all his fear of being beaten, however illogical it was, it had brought out his other persona once more. ...and England knew Alfred was planning on getting rid of him... He didn't like that idea one bit. No... For now, he was here to stay.


	10. Escape

Total obedience given to the administration awarded one an amount privileges and freedoms in return. These freedoms, while defined by the restrictions the institution has power over, at least gave patients a standard of living to go by. If one was incorrigible, restrictions were enforced. When one submitted, restrictions were taken away. Arthur's obedience was gradually acknowledged. Gilbert no longer restrained him outside his room, and he could eat in the canteen with the rest of the patients if he so chose. Perhaps people forgot about the reason for Arthur's stay, or perhaps they pitied him for his lost eye. This time when Gilbert released Arthur to go to his appointment with Dr. Jones he gave the boy a nod before walking away, assuming Arthur would be a good boy and go to Alfred on his own.

With the new found freedom, England was very careful not to give much away. For the most part, he stayed quiet, and still tried to seem meek and timid, as he felt Arthur acted. If he behaved, and didn't draw too much attention to himself, then it would be easier for him in the long run. It would make the odds more in his favor than they would be otherwise.

It wasn't difficult to find simple weapons, he had noted. He had stolen a pen, which went unnoticed. He didn't dare take any of the dining ware. _That_ would be more likely to get noticed. Little things, though, such as paper clips, nails in some places of the building that he could manage to pry out… Those were the things that went unnoticed. Sure, a utensil such as a fork or knife would've been ideal, but these would work just as well if he ran into any snags in his plan.

In the past few weeks (Alfred had been a little behind with his other patients, it seemed), Arthur's persona had been mapping out the hospital in his mind. Today was the day, though. As soon as Gilbert walked away, a grin crept across his face. He could escape. Arthur had tried before, yes... But England was smarter. He had more courage as opposed to the other. He made his way down the hallway, trying to keep as quiet as he could, then slowly opened the door he thought would begin to lead him outside. ...alarms immediately sounded. He cursed. He must've mistaken an emergency exit for one of the routes he was planning on taking. This place was too confusing for a single person to correctly navigate. He should've foreseen this. He turned and began to run down the hallway, hoping there was enough time for him to slip away before someone found out who had tried to escape.

It was the smart move on his part. He could only assume that the hospital was surrounded by a fence, and if so, he wouldn't have time to find a better way out (a hole in the fence, a different exit, etc.) by the time security caught up with him. It would've been at least a little easier if he had shoes on. Considering that, then it was probably a good thing patients weren't allowed to have shoes.

Dr. Jones' current patient was curled into a fetal position, arms held tightly between her knees and sobbing with her face buried against the seat pillows. She was by far his least favorite patient. A textbook female hysteria case, and always insisted that Jones continue the technique the former director administrated on her. And though for a while Alfred was successful at steering away from it in favor of old-fashioned psychotherapeutic interviews, until he found out that she was Ivan's little sister. He's rather not admit it, but he didn't want to get on the Specialist's bad side. They played by entirely different rules. Since then he very, very reluctantly acquiescented, but lately she had become too depressed over the anniversary death of her stillborn child and she was too despondent to do much else than moon over it. Thank god for small favors.

Alfred let her cry it out while the finished up the morning paper's crossword puzzle. What was the time period between 144-65 Million B.C? Alfred closed one eye and tilted his head in thought, nibbling on the nib of his pen. He knew this one... When the wailing pitched to screeching levels Dr. Jones pressed his hands to his ears and grit his teeth. "All right, all right!" he yelled back and exasperatedly heaved himself from the chair and flipped open the case on his desk. He looked inside, then melodramatically dropped his head back in self-pity. He reluctantly pulled out the instrument, an electomechanical device user-designed to be operated with one hand administering women "pelvic massages" for treatment for women with hysteria. Alfred greatly loathed using these. He heaved a put-upon sigh, unwrapping the cords and connecting the attachments. Finished, he slowly turned around to the woman, smiling and already shimmying out of her undergarments.

Dr. Jones had just activated the pelvic massager's vibration module when the alarms went off. Both jumped with a start and Jones - a little more than relieved- stepped out the door to see the workers run past him to the patients' ward where the alarm activated. "We'll have to postpone this for next time." He hoped he didn't sound too relieved. Before the woman could protest he pulled the woman out of his office, underwear and all, and quickly locked up before racing down the halls with them. He had a feeling who it might be.

Arthur, who was running down the hallway, ran straight into a guard. Maybe he should've left when he had the chance. At least that way he could've tried to escape. Now he was caught in his failed attempt. He quickly turned and ran the other way. He wasn't in control of himself, but no one else knew that. He made it out the door he was originally trying to escape from, going back to his first plan of attempting an escape. He was caught either way, now, so he might as well give it his best shot. England ran to the fence surrounding the area, and began to climb. He winced, finding that it was impossible to get over the damn fence without any shoes. He climbed back down. It was obviously too late. Guards were running towards him from all parts of the building, and he was worn. He wasn't in shape because of lack of physical activity over the past few months. Breathing heavily, he dropped to his knees with his hands behind his head in a sign of surrender.

Arthur was dragged to his feet by his hair and met with a straight punch right in the left eye. This unidentified guard- it could have been Gilbert, it could have been anyone- hit Arthur once more, knocking him out clean. The last thing Arthur was aware of before he crept out of consciousness was the foggy visage of a surprised Alfred as he approached the boy, just moments within arm's reach before he blacked out entirely.

As Arthur went out cold, Alfred sighed and crossed his arms, shaking his head. He turned around and wordlessly indicated the guards to follow, Arthur slung over one's shoulder like a sack of grain. He walked passed and ignored Ludwig who, though a man of few words, wore a face that spoke volumes. Alfred took them past the medical ward and at the other side of the institute, a familiar place known to Arthur until most recently when he behaved, but will quickly be re-acquainted with now. They sat Arthur into the wooden chair, strapped up his arms and chest before leaving the two men alone. Alfred stood right in front of him, tapping his foot irritably. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked. Not expecting an answer, Dr. Jones sighed wearily and flopped into a seat behind Arthur, out of his view. He needed time to think until Arthur woke up again.

When Arthur awoke, he couldn't remember a thing. After all, it hadn't been him who'd attempted the escape. His left eye was dark with a bruise from when it was hit. He groaned softly, his head aching, and attempted to rub his eyes. When he found that he couldn't, he immediately froze, and looked around. His breath picked up slightly, and his expression was fearful. ...why on Earth was he here...? The last thing he could remember was getting caught touching himself... He thought for a moment. Maybe _that_ was why he was here. It didn't exactly explain not remembering how he got here, though. Or why his head was throbbing.

While Arthur slept, he thought about a lot of things. He thought about the first time he heard about Arthur on the radio, the first newspaper article he read, meeting him for the first time and how looked into his gorgeous green eyes and saw right into his chafed raw soul, still spirited with fire at the time. And the hundreds of first times after that. Arthur tried to escape before, but Alfred refused to take it to heart, convincing himself the Arthur only needed time. Just give him time. Now that Arthur finally saw Alfred for who he was, his only redemption, someone who loved him, it devastated Alfred's heart that Arthur threw it back in his face and left him. He sniffed and wiped his eyes.

More time passed. Maybe...? Perhaps it was England who tried to escape. It's wasn't implausible. It wasn't impossible that England awakened and took control over Arthur's faculties. England's dilemma was beyond self-defense or an idle personality. It any case, there was no point in coming to a single conclusion. It gave him hope.

As Arthur slowly came to, Alfred sat behind Arthur several minutes longer, watching the boy's reaction to his environment, and simply _watching_ Arthur. His chin was propped on his hand, slightly slouched against the arm rest. At first Dr. Jones was at a loss for why Arthur dared run away again, when Arthur was finally coming around. He waited months to prime Arthur. Since that day in his office Alfred was in was better mood than he'd been in a long time. He would woke up giddy to face the day, humming to himself shaving in the mirror every morning and thinking about when he would see him again. He didn't just have one Arthur, he had two ' to play with and love. Even if it was true that Arthur was trying to leave, it must have been England's wicked influence on him. England wanted to be the master of Arthur, and he refused to share power. Alfred decided that was the case.

Arthur looked incredibly panicked. By this time, only a few minutes after he'd waken, he was convinced that his sole reason for being here was that he had touched himself. He tugged at the restraints weakly, his breaths coming out in pants. He'd had this done plenty of times before. He knew exactly where he was. The electrotherapy room. He'd basically been gone for the past few weeks, so no conversations or actions from that time were remembered. He had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't care about touching himself anymore. Not if this is where it led. After a few minutes of being alone, he calmed down slightly. "...hello...?" he questioned quietly into the empty room.

Dr. Jones didn't answer back for a long time, watching Arthur become more frightened by the minute. His voice was pathetically small and Alfred barely refrained from scoffing at the boy's feigned innocence. "Looks like three times wasn't a charm for you." He pulled himself up from his seat and lackadaisically made his way to the sturdy table next to Arthur. On it was conductive solution in a jar, a mouth guard, and the electroshock machine kit. Inside it was the device itself and equipment, most notably two cylindrical handheld electrodes connected to the machine by long wires. Jones took his time setting up shop, carefully unraveling the cords so that they didn't tangle on the table and lining them up with the conductive and the mouth guard. Arthur could see all of this from the corner of his working eye if he strained enough.

Finally he stopped ignoring the boy and knelt in front of him on eye level like one would with a child. "Do you know why you're here, Arthur?" he asked, with a hint of condescension lilting his voice, eyebrows lifting imploringly.

Arthur was shaking slightly. He felt like he was going to be sick. When Alfred finally spoke, he was so skittish that it made him jump a little. He replied to the words with a look of confusion. He said nothing as the doctor got things ready, his anxiety increasing as each second passed. His eyes searched the doctor's face at the question, wondering briefly if it was some sort of trick question. After a few moments, he nervously replied. "I-I'm here b-because I was touching myself... R-Right...?" He had tears in his eyes; he sniffled. "I'm sorry... I w-won't do it again."

So it _was_ England. The man's face remained impassive, but if it was from Alfred's silent rejection or the doctor's clinical training not to give indication of judgment, it was hard to say. He willfully held his gaze for several pregnant moments before calmly reaching up to lay a hand on Arthur's chest. "When I said I was going to tell you what happened when you were under hypnotic induction, I had planned to tell you who I met." He paused. "I spoke to a man who referred to himself as England. Yes, I know the name is strange. But the name isn't important. He told me what happened the night your family died... the lapses in your memory you can't recall. He's been in there, Arthur," Alfred patted his heart for emphasis. "For a very long time. He told me he hurt your on purpose, threw you down stairs and broke your bones, isolated all your friends... and he was the one who killed your parents."

"He told me that he strangled your father, and then your mother and your little brother. The reason your family was one the couch was because England put them there. England told me things even the investigators didn't know, that he gouged your family's eyes out, and carved smiles on their faces when he arranged them on the couch. Doused them with petrol. When England was discovered by the servant, he doused petrol on her, too, and lit her on fire, along with your family. England reveled in your father, mother, brother, and servant's slaughter, and he said the fire was beautiful." He repeated the name of Arthur's persona's as often as he could, intent on reinforcing the reality of England's presence inside Arthur's mind and demonizing him as much as he could (thought it didn't take much). Alfred squeezed Arthur's hand inside the arm well-constructed in place of chair arms. "He's trying to hurt you more, Arthur. He escaped the building and ran away. But he wanted to get caught, so you could suffer more." Alfred farced a very heartbroken face with his next words, "but I still have to punish you, because England is still a part of you."

Arthur sat there, listening to Alfred with a blank expression. His shaking got worse as the other spoke, and he was trying to wrap his mind around what he'd just been told. It made sense. He'd always been blamed for things he didn't remember doing. His face twitched slightly as tears began to roll down his face. Maybe he was trying to portray how he was feeling. It was difficult. He was a mix of so many emotions at the moment that they blurred, as white noise would, and became one, dull, numb feeling throughout his entire body. The last shred of hope he'd always had in his gaze when he was here vanished. He wanted to die. Maybe it hadn't necessarily been him committing the crimes, but it was still a part of him. He still murdered his family. He still _deserved_ to be here. It wasn't exactly what Alfred had wanted, but by giving him all this information at once, he'd successfully broken the man.

"Shhhh. Hey." Alfred touched his cheek, Arthur's tears dripping over his fingertips. He wiped them away, though more tears continued to flow. "Don't cry. I haven't given up on you." He smiled, sweeping a finger underneath his chin to catch a tear. "It's England's fault." With a hand on his knee he stood up and returned to the table. "I've dealt with patients like you before, Arthur." he said with his back turned. "There hasn't been one patient I haven't cured." It was true. Lobotomy did wonders for patients with seemingly untreatable maladies like Arthur's.

He turned again with an eerily huge smile holding the jar of clear coagulated solution in one hand. He rubbed a wide circle of cold electrode gel on Arthur's temples to avoid skin burns. Arthur's hair was already damp with sweat so Alfred only had to push it out of the way without pinning it up. "How do you feel, Arthur? Do you trust me?" He held up the electrodes in his hands.

Arthur remained silent. He looked completely lost. Up until that point, he had at least a small chance of being innocent in his own mind. Even if it was this other person inside of him, it was still him. His mind had made England. He was still responsible for the deaths of his parents and brother. Even if he was cured, why did it matter now? He wasn't ever leaving this place. The only thing he had to be glad for at the moment was that it was only Alfred in the room. He attempted to, but couldn't fully stop the shaking. He glanced up for a moment, and nodded, then returned his gaze to the ground. "...don't forget the mouth guard..." he murmured.

Alfred pouted, clearly not happy with Arthur's reply. "I know what you're thinking," he said gravely. "You think it's your fault, that even if you didn't do it, England did, and he's a part of you." Touched with sympathy, his shoulders slumped and lowered his hands with the electrodes, but then held them back up as he straightened again. "Like I said, even if it's true, you can get rid of him for good." Dr. Jones slipped his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and mopped up the boy's face. "Do you want England to go away?" He stared right into Arthur's green eye, voice lowering. "We can do that, you know. But you need to _want_ to make England disappear. Do you understand me?" His gaze never faltered.

Arthur smiled sadly at Alfred as his tears were wiped away. At least he'd always have the doctor. It didn't matter if he trusted him fully or not, Alfred would always be there, and that was something he could depend on. He definitely still believed this was his fault. It would be hard I change that. Yes, he did want England, this other persona who was supposedly a murderer to go away, but... He couldn't help but be a little curious. "...why am I like this...?" he questioned, looking back up at Dr. Jones and expecting an answer. "What's wrong with me?"

Alfred slowly kneeled in front of him, switching one electrode to the other hand to gently, oh so gently touch his face, the side with his scars. He looked at Arthur, face cleared of any deception. Even without his mask his blue eyes were incredibly intense as his stare bored into Arthur's eye. "Sometimes, bad things happen to good people," he replied softly. Genuinely. His hand curled around his head and pulled him forward, capturing Arthur's lips in a slow kiss before standing up again. He left Arthur's visual range; the boy could feel Alfred circle around him until he stood right behind him.

Unexpectedly, Alfred unrestrained Arthur's arm next to the table. He carefully inserted the mouth guard into Arthur's slack mouth, instructing him to bite down. Then he firmly pressed the electrodes against Arthur's temples. "Arthur. England must be eliminated. You have to be strong and endure." He waited a few moments before continuing. "Press the button."

Arthur couldn't help it. He leaned into the gentle touch. He was so rarely shown that anymore, and it was nice. It reminded him of his mother. He smiled. It seemed like Alfred really meant that. That he was a good person. He was slightly surprised when the other kissed him. It wasn't a kiss one would share with a family member, but it lacked the roughness of what he would expect from the doctor. It was nice, actually. Reassuring. His breath hitched slightly in confusion as his arm was unrestrained. He wasn't sure what Dr. Jones was asking of him at first. Then, he nodded, just a little, and did as he was instructed, timidly reaching his hand over to flip the switch.

He let out a scream, shaking heavily from the electric current. Pain. Searing pain traveling through his entire body. He was supposed to trust Alfred. ...and he did... But it hurt _so_ badly. The insides of his thighs felt wet. He must have lost control of his bladder at some point while he was being electrocuted. After a moment, he realized that the switch was now turned off. He was still shaking heavily from the seizures the treatment induced. His eyes, even his working one were nearly blank as he tried to cope with the pain.

Dr. Jones held the electrodes firmly in place as his patient violently spasmed against the restraints. Arthur jerked away from the chair and fell back into it, repeating it several times. The voltage was endurable, only 200v, but the current was on for as long as Alfred held the instruments to his temple. After a few seconds he removed them, switched off the machine and clutched Arthur's jaw closed, forcing the mouth guard in place so as not to bite his tongue. He waited for Arthur to ride out the last of his convulsions, paying no mind to the mess Arthur made. Finally, the symptoms subsided, with just a few short jerks now and then. Jones slowly removed his hand, reapplied the conductive and put the electrodes back to his temples. "Again."

Arthur let out a choked-off sob. "P-Please..." he begged past the guard in his mouth. "...i-it hurts..." He trusted Alfred, but the pain was unbearable. It was only made worse by the fact that he had to flip the switch himself. Though, he supposed that was the point. He was shaking still, but the tremors had ceased aside from slight twitching every minute or two. He wanted the murdering persona in his head to go away, but this was literally _torture_. After only a few moments of silence, he gave in, and flipped the switch again. The same reaction occurred. First screaming, then convulsions that slowly got heavier.

This time Alfred held the electrodes longer before he let off. As Arthur's convulsions ceased, he leaned against the arm well and half-turned towards him with his arms crossed, looking down at Arthur. "It will only get worse until you force England out," he reasoned mildly. "You wouldn't have killed your parents were it not for England. It's England's fault you're in my asylum. It's his fault you're suffering right now. Think about that as you're getting shocked." Ignoring Arthur's increasing sobs he increased the voltage by 20, prepped him again and put the electrodes back into place. "Once more."

The next time Arthur had thought he was going to tell Alfred no. He thought he would be able to refuse. But Alfred must've foreseen that with what he'd said. He wanted to be free of England, but he wasn't sure if it was worth this. After all, he couldn't hurt anyone while he was in here. Yes, he could get even with the person inside his head, but it seemed petty considering all the pain he was going through just for that. He tried to think about what Dr. Jones had said as he flipped the switch again, but the more he got shocked, the harder it got to think clearly. His throat was already raw from screaming into the mouth guard.

The next time Arthur had thought he was going to tell Alfred no. He thought he would be able to refuse. But Alfred must've foreseen that with what he'd said. He wanted to be free of England, but he wasn't sure if it was worth this. After all, he couldn't hurt anyone while he was in here. Yes, he could get even with the person inside his head, but it seemed petty considering all the pain he was going through just for that. He tried to think about what Dr. Jones had said as he flipped the switch again, but the more he got shocked, the harder it got to think clearly. His throat was already raw from screaming into the mouth guard.

Finally, after the third electroshock administration, Alfred pulled away. Therapy ceased for now. After Arthur's final convulsions, Dr. Jones meticulously put away the equipment while Arthur was still strapped in. "Did you think about what I said?" He already knew the answer. He turned back, light slanting over his glasses obscuring his eyes as he came upon Arthur. Before he unrestrained the boy he squeezed his face in one hand to forced Arthur to look at him. "Look at what England's done to you. You're a sobbing mess and you wet yourself." He forced Arthur to feel for himself. Despite this, Alfred freed Arthur and let the boy droop into his embrace, hefting him into his arms cradling him under his knees and back. He made it so Arthur's head was against his chest as he carried him out of the room and back to the residential ward. When he deposited Arthur back down on his bed he leaned down and kissed the boy once more, this time on the head, whispering, "Don't forget what I said," before leaving the room.

Arthur had never felt worse about himself. When he was placed in his bed, he rolled over onto his side, not caring that his pants were still soaked with urine. It didn't matter if he washed himself or not. The damage was done. He already felt humiliated, pathetic, and useless. He had stopped sobbing, but his self-hate only worsened. He had to remind himself that it was this _thing_ inside of him. _That's_ whose fault it was. Not his. ...not Alfred's. Well, actually, it probably was directly the doctor's fault that he felt this way. But with how well the other manipulated, he felt like it was his other persona directly at fault. It was so hard to think. He curled up into a ball on the side of his bed, and fell asleep for the night. Unfortunately, he was still having violent spasms and twitches every once in a while because of the therapy, so his sleep was frequently disturbed.


	11. Healing

Sesel was _not_ happy. Once again she was allocated tasks beneath her station. First she was ordered to cut Arthur's hair, and now she was playing maid. She may have been a woman but she was a nurse, for God's sake, and not a scullery maid. Tucking Arthur's fresh pair of clothes between side and elbow she fumbled with the keys. Gilbert had given them to her, saying he was "too busy" to drop them off - indeed, too busy screwing a married woman. Sesel snorted. Some part of her felt bad for the woman whose husband was a permanent resident in the asylum. The brilliant pianist battled with severe schizophrenia his entire life, one of those tortured artist types, and when no medical treatment was working, he and his wife, in desperation, turned to their last resort. The prefrontal lobotomy was a disaster; the musical genius reduced to little more than a living doll with the mental capacity of an infant and barely responded to stimuli.

Finally working the blasted key into the keyhole she stepped into Arthur's room, bundle of clothes in arm and a scowl on her face. She spotted Arthur immediately, and it looked like the boy was simply holding himself with his legs tucked under his chin, but he was in a restraint garment with overlong sleeves that tied behind his back, effectively keeping the boy's arms close to his chest while restraining any mobility from them. His ankles were chained to the straight jacket, too, forcing the boy to curl in on himself even more. Sesel reminded herself it wasn't the worst thing that could happen, Arthur could be in the hole, or back in the chair. But Sesel knew, for all the years she's worked with the disturbed, being left to yourself was sometimes the worst torture of all. Not sure if Arthur was unaware of her presence or ignoring her, she slowly set the bundle down next to him on the bare mattress and stood up.

Arthur was staring at the wall when the nurse came in. He'd been battling in his mind ever since the straight jacket was put on. The purpose might have been to keep him from escaping, but he couldn't be sure. _I am a fucking worthless, piece of shit. I murdered my parents. My little brother. ...it wasn't me... No... No lying. Even if it was a person my mind created, it's still my fault. I mutilated their bodies. Even burned the maid alive. Sick fuck. ...I don't remember... That doesn't mean I didn't do it. Alfred even told me that I was guilty. Did I really think I wasn't? ...I... It wasn't me... Oh, that's laughable. I am England. He is me. I killed my family, and I deserve more than anyone to be here. ...I'm innocent... It wasn't me! Oh, please. I shouldn't even be alive. I should pay for the crimes I committed. That's why I'm here. I questioned that in the first few weeks. I truly believed I was innocent. Poor, misguided fuck. ...I am... No, I'm not. I'm going to Hell. And everyone knows it. They all know that I'm guilty. That's why no one cares. I don't deserve to have anyone care about me. I should be grateful that Alfred even wants me. That doesn't mean he cares. He doesn't care, and nobody will ever care, because they see me for who I am._

The teen's eyes were shining with tears as the nurse got up. He hadn't even noticed she was there. He was too caught up in his own thoughts. This was almost worse than the electrotherapy. Dr. Jones had succeeded in making Arthur hate England... But the boy now hated himself even more.

As she laid down the clothes next to Arthur she glanced sidelong at his face. The boy looked comatose. She could tell by the unwavering, shell-shocked look on his face that he was battling with his demons in the Hell he created in his mind. She slowly stood, absent-mindedly smoothing out her skirt as she stared down at him. What was that man doing to the boy? She thought back to the time she caught them in the medical ward when Alfred had licked Arthur's finger right in front of her. Just thinking about it made her see red. No, she knew exactly what Dr. Jones was doing to that boy.

She admitted that when Jones debuted in the hospital as the head psychiatrist she was taken by him, as was everyone else. She and Jones even flirted a few times. As time went on red flags showed up, but she didn't notice anything before because it wasn't the _doctor_ who changed, it was his patients. It's not that their mental health worsened, but they were... changed, somehow. As if they weren't deranged already, it was like Alfred took their heads and shook up their thoughts and left the pieces in new disarray. He insisted on treating his patients to hydro- and electro-therapy alone, and always broke protocol. She finally opened her eyes to Alfred's sickness when she was delivering to him the nurses' patient behavior reports one day. She volunteered herself, as always, and when she knocked on his office door and there was no answer, because she knew he wasn't in session, she didn't see the mind in helping herself in and delivering them herself. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked opening all-too easily into Dr. Jones' office, where the man sat dozing in his chair at his desk. She tip-toed with the utmost caution not to awaken him, carefully set the papers down and looked down at his sleeping face, slack jawed and boyish. Running her fingers through his soft golden hair, she contemplated their relationship. They were getting along very well, and she thought she was open about her feelings, but for some reason he wouldn't take the next step. Thoughts wandering, her idle eyes settled on his open notes on a patient. She read them, shouldn't help it. She was curious about the brilliant insight of Dr. Alfred F. Jones, firstborn son (he was actually a twin) of an aristocratic family from old money, top student at Dundee's Medical School and the former hospital head's protégé, not to mention devilishly handsome.

She almost which she hadn't. In it the doctor relayed every hair splitting detail about his "treatment" with a recently-deceased patient, who stabbed himself in the carotid artery with a spoon and bleed to death in the mess hall. Alfred confessed, sometimes with line-by-line detail, to slowly convincing the man that the indoctrination of the religious cult he escaped from (and the reason why he was institutionalized) was real, and that if he sacrificed himself to the cult's so-called Mother Goddess she will rise again to bring about something called Paradise, as well as be reunited with his mother in her womb. All while cruelly mocking the severely disturbed man for his Oedipus complex and delusions of grandeur, among a dozen other diagnoses. His parting words in Sullivan's file still haunted her: "I couldn't help it- it was too fun."

She couldn't leave the room fast enough, taking the notes with her. He should never know she was there. She avoided him whenever she could and refused to bring the notes to him anymore. But her mind was always on the handsome doctor. After a few days he popped in out of the blue, all smiles and charm, inquiring why he never saw her pretty face anymore. She tried to act as normal as she could lying that she was so overworked she didn't have the time. After a few long moments of tense silence Alfred slowly raised his eyebrows at her. Sesel _knew_ Alfred knew. Unexpectedly, he smiled again, even brighter, told her the keep up the good work, and left. Sesel didn't know what to think of it.

A few days later she was elevated to head nurse. She felt so dirty, so disgusted, but still she accepted the position. Being a woman, this was the highest she could ever hope to achieve in the medical field. And she somehow knew that if she ever left his lunatic asylum, Dr. Jones would make sure she never worked in medicine ever again.

"Here..." she coaxed gently, pulling the boy to his feet and guiding him by the chain to the showers. In there she cleaned him, righting him up whenever he swayed with the woman's labor, barely responsive beyond moving limbs on her command. Scrubbed pink and clean she made him dress in the new clothes and re-wrapped the straight jacket by herself, having assessed in the boy's room Arthur wasn't in a state to do anything belligerent. She brought him back towards his cell, but passed it, and continued on. "You have an appointment with Dr. Jones," she explained, trying to keep the ice out of her voice. She stopped outside of Dr. Jones' office and turned to him. "I don't know what to tell you, except not to regret whatever decision you make. If you have none, pretend anyway."

After days of being in the strait jacket, it was nice to have it off and be able to move around a little. Arthur's mind still felt as if it was caving in on itself. Before he'd come to the asylum, he'd hated himself to some extent. Though, that didn't compare to how much he despised himself now. He had no shred of self-esteem left in him.

He honestly hadn't known the nurse was there until she spoke. He jumped slightly at the one word persuasion to move, and his frightened gaze shifted to her. He almost looked sick. Because his mental health was deteriorating so quickly, his physical health was not far behind. He slowly stood, keeping his gaze on the floor the entire time. A part of him wanted to tell her that he didn't deserve this kindness. That was the thing getting him through all the things Dr. Jones had prescribed to him over the past few days. The thought that he deserved every bit of it.

The younger didn't react much in the showers. He was used to this. The first few times that this had happened (which had been near the beginning of his stay at the hospital), he had been incredibly embarrassed to have someone else helping him bathe. Now, it was normal.

It was strange what had become normal to him, without him even realizing it. Being in the asylum itself, for one. He'd grown used to the place, as one would a new home. This is where he lived. It was his home. The second thing that was slightly surprising, was getting used to the constant monitoring. It seemed like it was impossible to be alone. But he was used to the schedule of things. Almost dependent on it, in a way.

He watched as they passed his cell, as if expecting the door to swallow him as they walked by. His head was still down, as it had been nearly the entire time, though he looked up at her statement. "I haven't seen him in a while. I'm glad I'm visiting him now... I missed him," he explained with a sad smile. It was as if he hadn't heard a word that she had said. He was too far lost in the man's mind games.

"Maybe it's for the best." She rapped sharply on the door and promptly left. She didn't want to see Jones' face. After the brisk pace of high heels indicated Sesel was safely around the corner Dr. Jones opened the door. He grinned distractedly and teetered out of the doorway with both hands braced on the door. "That was Sesel, wasn't it?" He looked at Arthur for real this time and grinned again. He was glad Sesel left. He didn't want to see her, either. He took in Arthur's get-up and resisted the urge the chuckle. "Excuse my rudeness; do come in." He held the door for Arthur by and locked it behind him when he entered. With a gentle hand on his back he guided the boy to the couch and gestured with his hand. "Make yourself comfortable."

Arthur didn't understand why the nurse had said what she had. He chose to shrug it off, and let the things that were currently happening distract him from his mind's current situation. He nodded at the doctor's question. As he heard the door lock, he thought nothing of it. That was another thing he'd grown accustomed to... Hearing the lock of a door click behind him. This time he wasn't faced with being alone, though. He glanced behind himself at the couch for a moment, then carefully sat down. It wasn't the easiest thing without the use of his arms. It was more like plopping down, to be honest. He held a smile, as he had nowhere else in the asylum, and looked Alfred in the eye, as he did with no one else. "What are we doing today, Dr. Jones?" he questioned. He knew that the other had said calling him by his first name would be fine, but it felt strange on his tongue.

"Have anything in mind?" Alfred took his seat across from him, eyed the straight jacket and went ahead with unbuckling the belts. He figured after hypno induction sleep paralysis did just as good of a job, and it was much more fun when he could get under Arthur's clothes. He tossed the jacket in a mess on the floor and resumed his attention on Arthur. "I want to do so many things, but I'd like to hear what's been going on with you?" Alfred began jotting down notes. "Most of your privileges have been taken away: you've been confined and isolated in your room for four days, physically restrained in the straitjacket. You probably didn't know this but you've been on suicide watch, too. Gilbert's annoying, but he gets the job done, one way or another. So!" Alfred jabbed the nib into the paper marking the end of his sentence with a period. "How have you coped the last few days?"

Arthur stretched his arms as the strait jacket was discarded. He was grateful for that. His smile that he'd been accustomed to wearing in front of Alfred twitched, then fell at the mention of his lost privileges. His gaze shifted to the floor, and he ignored the man's question for a moment. He knew it would do no use to lie to Alfred. "...not well..." he murmured. "I want to die. Then I remember how I deserve this," he explained, his eyes never leaving the ground. He felt as though he deserved everything that was happening. For many reasons, aside from attempting to escape. Killing his family and maid was an obvious reason. Before then, he could have at least lied to himself, saying that he was innocent. Now there was no doubt of what he'd done. Even if it wasn't technically him.

Dr. Jones reached out and tipped Arthur's head up with his pen (gripped tightly this time) until their eyes were level. "Please be honest with me, Arthur. Tell me everything that's on your mind, even if it hurts." He leaned back again, regarding him thoughtfully. "If you're not ready to talk, maybe England has something to say," he offered, face professionally neutral. He already knew what Arthur had to say. For many fixated patients, thoughts were cyclical, and though Arthur had never at any time explicitly confessed his overwhelming feelings to the doctor, he knew it all already. It was Arthur's behavior rather than his thoughts that appealed to him, and their ever-evolving relationship. Arthur, when he acted belligerent, was feisty, and when he acted depressed he was adorable, and this England, well... he was exotic.

Arthur stared at Alfred. He shook his head. "I..." he murmured, then leaned back slightly to get the pen out from under his chin in order to stare at the floor again. "I deserve this. I deserve worse than this. I'm upset the way everyone treats me, and sees me, and that no one cares about me..." he admitted, his words fading out. "...then I remember that I deserve all of it... I'm a murderer. I don't deserve to be here. This is too good for me. I should be dead. In Hell." He shook his head again. "I don't deserve your kindness. ...you should just let me die..."

Arthur pulling away irritated him a little. He wanted a good look at Arthur's sad face. "Hmm. Maybe you do deserve to be in Hell," he agreed, gauging the boy's reaction. He went on ponderously. "But don't you think it's a bit presumptuous to off yourself so soon? You have plenty of time to burn in torment, so why don't you enjoy your stay in the corporeal world for a spell? There are still things to enjoy, even if you can't go outside. There is the pleasure of engaging in other worlds through books, the pleasure of food, and drink... sex." Alfred's lips spread into a grin, but it was strangely benign and didn't fit with the suggestiveness of his words. "Do you like sex, Arthur?"

Arthur's shoulders slumped slightly at Alfred's agreement with what he'd said. A small part of him had been hoping that the doctor would disagree. That the doctor would tell him he was cared about, at the very least. His eye dulled slightly. He blinked at the other's suggestions, though. "S-Sex before m-marriage is a sin..." he stuttered out, surprised that the other had suggested it. "...I haven't seen a single book since I've been here, the food here is horrid, and I've never had alcohol before..." he said quickly, trying to change the subject. "...or sex."

"Yes, it's a sin," he replied with a roll of eyes, sounding as if he'd replied to that statement countless times before. So he's going to pretend he wasn't forced? Was sex so categorical to him? "Anyway, true the food is sludge, but it's better than what they shove down your throat in prison." The doctor quirked an eyebrow at him pointedly before continuing. "And alcohol? I'm surprised you haven't had wine with your meals." He shrugged. It didn't matter. "Well, if you can't have those things, what are you left with?" Although he could suppress a smile, it didn't hide the gleam in his eye. "Little Feli told me what you were doing when he visited you. It must be hard not to be given a moment's peace. A man has to satisfy himself." Alfred paused. "One way or another."

Arthur felt his mood worsening with each word the other spoke. "I've had sips of wine. Only at church, though," he explained. His eyes were still trained on the floor. "...then I'm left with an eternity of suffering and nothing to show for it..." he muttered quietly. He stiffened as Dr. Jones spoke about his incident with masturbation. He frowned. "Even if I don't get punished for England's crimes... I'm still going to Hell," he murmured. "For touching myself..." he started, "...and homosexual thoughts..." he finished, almost inaudible. He hadn't wanted to admit that to anyone. It was strange to him. After being sexually abused by several men, he would've assumed that would turn him off from certain things. Though, in truth, the only reason that his priest began doing anything with him is because he'd admitted to impure thoughts during one of his confessions.

"Cum masculo non commisceberis coitu femineo quia abominatio est," the words rolled off Alfred's tongue with ease. "Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination. Did you know that the contextual meaning of the Word were injunctions against pagan fertility rituals?" His fluid writing didn't once falter or lift from the page as he spoke offhandedly. "There we go." He tucked the pen inside the medical clipboard's clip. "Did you masturbate more often after the priest assaulted you?" he asked bluntly to the top of Arthur's bowed head since the boy wasn't looking up.

Arthur paused in his thoughts momentarily in confusion when the other began speaking a language that wasn't English. His face was slightly flushed as he pondered the man's question about pleasuring himself. "...I didn't do it before..." he muttered. "I hadn't started until after those things happened." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not quite sure he enjoyed where the conversation was. He'd had plenty of "issues" with masturbation that his father had attempted to "correct." That obviously hadn't worked, and he didn't need to be reminded of it. To some extent, he assumed that was where all his problems stemmed from. Because he had sinful thoughts, he was punished. He continued to sin, and in return, things got worse. Everything always came back to being his fault.

Silence stretched time to an almost unbearable length, Alfred letting Arthur dwell on that thought before he moved. He slowly rose from the chair and sat next to Arthur on the couch. He was as close as he could be without touching, though Arthur could feel the man's body heat through what little space they had between them. "How did it feel when the victor touched you?" he asked lowly, now that they were so close. "Tell me how it happened. Tell me how it felt," he spoke imploringly. Their heads were so close, Alfred leaning in towards Arthur. The couch, though a quality and taut leather Italian import, sunk under his weight causing Arthur to slide closer towards the man. Alfred really wished he could see Arthur's face right now.

Arthur was growing more tense as the silence went on. He relaxed slightly when Alfred sat down next to him, surprising himself a little. It wasn't entirely unpleasant. Though, he froze again at the question. He set his jaw, openly refusing to speak. This was the road he didn't want to go down. He didn't want to talk about it. He had already _tried_ talking about it, and nothing had changed. It was the question itself that made him uncomfortable.

After a long while of silence, he realized that he might not be going anywhere anytime soon if he didn't share what happened with Alfred. ...and he didn't want the other to be cross with him. It wasn't as if he was just refusing to talk about it because he was speaking to the doctor. No... It was just the subject in general. He started, nervously. "The first time it happened... I went in for confessions, and I started talking to the man on the other side. He knew it was me because of my voice. ...our church wasn't very large. I said that I'd been having bad thoughts. ...ones that I knew I wasn't supposed to be having. He asked me what those were, and I explained. He sounded... Interested. I didn't really think anything of it. I was only... Eleven or twelve. I started to cry, and said that I was going to Hell..." His voice wavered slightly.

"...he told me I was, th-then came over into my side of the booth, and started yelling at me. He said something a-about how I was an abomination, and he w-would teach me what being g-gay was really like." The younger stopped for a moment to take a breath and calm himself. "H-He... He turned me around, and shoved my front into the wall. I was crying... telling him to stop, and he told me to shut up. He said he was saving me from damnation. He put his hands under my shirt, and started rubbing his hands over me. He bit my shoulder, a-and then his hands pulled the back of my pants and underwear d-down..." He was in tears at this point, and trembling slightly.

"I was scared, and crying still. B-But I didn't know what I w-was s-supposed to do. H-He was the priest, and I was told to listen to him. ...and th-then he... He just p-pushed right i-in. I don't remember h-him even having his d-dick out... I think I was too afraid. It h-hurt so badly... There was a l-lot of blood. Th-Then he yelled at m-me for getting blood on his c-clothing or something."

"After th-that, he told me that I'd g-get in trouble if I told anyone. Then he said I should go clean the blood off of me in the bathroom. H-He was always n-nice around other people, b-but he yelled and hit me, and other things... when we w-were alone."

By the end of speaking, Arthur was nearly sobbing with his head in his hands. He didn't like to think about this. It brought back painful memories. Not only the first time, but the many times after that which occurred for the next few years.

Alfred stared through the curtain of his fringe at Arthur, face stoic and expressionless. As he watched the boy relay his experience becoming more and more distressed until he felt the tight coil in his stomach spring loose and spread downward in a slow rush of heat that only intensified with his every heartbeat, with Arthur's every breath. Arthur went on with his story. He stared intensely at Arthur sobbing into his hands, taking in every hitch of breath that jolted his frail shoulders, the prominent notches of his spine as he curled in on himself, the wet salt tracks on his face, and the miserable way his mouth twisted as he cried. Presently Alfred had his arm stretched over the top of the couch to prevent him from grabbing the boy, grappling for purchase as his hands became uncomfortably sweaty and harder to grip. With his free hand he reached over and abruptly grabbed Arthur under his jaw and forced the boy to look up at him. Alfred's eyes pulsed wide as he looked at him, feeling faint-headed with the raw emotions painted plainly on the boy's face. He knew he made the right decision in choosing Arthur.

"Arthur." Fixing Arthur in his gaze, he loomed forward so that Arthur had to lie down on his back if he didn't want to knock into him. Wordlessly he twisted Arthur's body so that he was lying face down on the couch now, shirt riding up and lower back touching open air. He placed one knee between the boy and the couch, his other foot firmly planted on the ground. Leaning over him like that, he was practically covering the boy's form without actually coming into contact with him. Alfred's hands slowly crept underneath the front of his shirt, leaning in and breathing into his ear. "You said the vicar pushed you against the booth and moved his hands up your shirt. Like this?" He ran his hands up and down Arthur's flesh. Not rough, but not gentle, either. "I want you to think about that time, but imagine me as your vicar. I'm the priest who's touching you all over your skin." It was all he could do not to thrust his hips against Arthur's ass to relieve some of the tension. He moved his hands over Arthur's torso, roughly like he imagined the vicar did. Then his touches slowed, becoming sensual, gentle but still firm enough to feel overwhelmingly stimulating. "Think of the vicar telling you you're going to burn in hell. He's yelling in your ear your eternal damnation... now he's whispering to you, telling you how beautiful you are. I'm whispering to you how beautiful you are." He had to pause to count down in his head, did it twice, before opening his eyes and resuming the reconsolidation. "You really are so beautiful, Arthur."

Arthur didn't notice the other watching him to such an extent. He was caught up with himself at the moment. He flinched slightly as his jaw was grabbed, and his face was in plain view for the other to see, puffy and red from sobbing. He looked utterly confused as Alfred manipulated his body, and began to shake as hands crept into his shirt. He felt like he was going to be sick. He did as Dr. Jones requested, though, and tried to imagine what was happening. He hid his face in the couch, letting out soft sobs into the fabric as his tears soaked it.

At the last sentence Alfred uttered, he tensed. The crying stopped, and his hands clenched and unclenched. He rolled over onto his back, yet in the position that they were in, he was still under the other. His emotion filled, young expression that he typically wore was exchanged for a hardened glare, filled with hatred. He grabbed the doctor's wrists in an attempt to stop them in their path, and dug his nails into the flesh. At the same time, he brought up his knee a little. His eyes were trained on the man above him. "Keep doing what you are, and you'll get a bloody knee in your balls, fuck face," England snapped.


	12. Deception

((This is the chapter a sex scene is in. Because this website doesn't allow anything over an M rating, I can't post it without the risk of a ban. I posted a link to it through my Tumblr page. Read it if you'd like, but if not, there is a short summary of it at the bottom, as well. It is important to the story. I'm not sure if I should label it as rape or not... It was consensual for England, but not for Arthur. That's my warning. Link is at the bottom. It continues from where this chapter leaves off.))

Underneath him Alfred could _feel_ Arthur submitting. Arthur's whole body was trembling with sobs and he could feel the despair against his chest as he lied flush against the boy without entirely crushing him under his weight. He thought this was a fantastic way to take Arthur, by rewiring the memory of taking his virginity. His mind was racing a mile a minute, unable to concentrate on anything but the now and his Arthur. He was finally going to be _his_ Arthur. He was definitely surprised, then, when the boy abruptly turned in his hold and faced him- but it wasn't his Arthur, it was England.

Face still flush with arousal, Alfred panted, mind catching up with him too late with England's words as he realized what position was he was in. Or rather what position England's knee was in. He froze, alarmed at the sudden unbalance of power and the reality that he had really fucked up. He managed to work a neutral expression and replied dryly, "I certainly wouldn't want that." He pulled away and walked back to his desk, carelessly half-sitting on one side of his desk as he regarded England with crossed arms. So glad of you to join us, Mr. England." He didn't sound so glad.

In any other situation, England might have smirked. He was not amused with what was going on, though. He carefully eyed the Alfred as the other walked back to his desk, then sat up, and pulled his shirt down. "What the Hell do you think you're doing?" he questioned in a venomous tone. "You've been treating him like _shit_ for the past few weeks, and then you pull _this_? You already know I have a death wish for you because of what happened last time."

England was pissed, to put it _lightly_. Now that he no longer really approved of Alfred, he didn't want something like this happening. "As I said during our last little meeting... I'm not afraid to kill you. You're an idiot if you think I am." It was slightly irritating, though. Unlike a few weeks ago, he didn't have a weapon on him. No matter if it was a simple pen, it made him feel safer, especially around the doctor. As much as he hated to admit it, the man scared him. At the moment, he felt unprotected. He could usually hide it well, though he wasn't sure if the other could see right through him or not.

Alfred snorted as a bubble of laughter erupted from his chest. He managed to quell it somewhat in his fist but he still looked giddy as he looked back at England. His face was a little pink from the humor he somehow found in the situation. It wasn't normal to find it funny when your patient's other personality popped up whenever it felt parental. Alfred was _definitely_ not normal, and he wouldn't have been in the quandary he found himself in right now if he was. He leaned back with his hand on the desk, feeling privately superior. He could read England's face just fine. It was harder to interpret the thoughts, but England shared his face with Arthur, and he could read Arthur was well as the back of his hand. So he thought.

There was a reason why he immediately went to his desk when England appeared. The gun in his drawer. It was locked, but there was also a hidden latch inside the adjacent drawer that served as an emergency unlocking mechanism so he never had to worry. He doubted circumstances would get out of control. As violent as England plainly was, Alfred had the experience and strength. He shot England a sly smile before shifting his attention elsewhere, effectively ignoring him and not answering.

England found himself getting more angry by the second. "What is so fucking funny?" he questioned. His fury only grew when Alfred ignored him. Unlike Arthur, he was unaware of the gun in Alfred's desk. After all, he didn't know everything. Just some of the main things that concerned Arthur. He abruptly stood and stalked over to the other. He made a show of getting right in his face, shooting a glare. "Answer me," he nearly spat. When he didn't receive an answer after a moment, he attempted to shove Alfred. Normally, he would be smarter, but considering how upset he already was, mixed with the constant therapies that had damaged his recent memories, he wasn't thinking correctly. In all reality, he should've known that Alfred was stronger, faster, higher up, and maybe even smarter than him. In all honesty... he did. But he was blinded by rage.

Alfred's face immediately darkened, picking up on the subtle action cues that England was going to push him. He swiftly cut him off by slapping the inside of England's wrists away, stepping into the wide opening to grab the boy around the throat with his hand. His arm was extended and held straight out, and Arthur had to lift himself on his toes to keep the air flow open. He looked furious as his stare bored into Arthur. "Don't push your luck." He jerked England with his grip on his throat. "Things were going fine until you reared your ugly head. So to speak." Somehow the displaced pun made him more frightening as the darkness in his face never lifted. "Go back to your special place and hand over Arthur." Hardly noticeable at first, Alfred began squeezing England's throat, inexorably choking out the air supply by the moment.

England clawed at Alfred's hands. His breath was slightly panicked already. "Y-You forget that we are the s-same person," he choked out. "...and aside f-from that... What are you going t-to do...? Kill me...?" he laughed. Though, it was already hard for him to breath, let alone speak. "You kill me, and y-you kill him. ...and I know y-you don't w-want to do that." His voice sounded more strained as he went on. At this point, it was stupid of him to keep talking. He was just wasting his oxygen. "...you may have him back for now, though..." he murmured, a smirk playing on his face for the first time that evening. His expression went blank for only a moment, then Arthur was back. The saddened, more innocent expression replaced the hateful one, and as the younger realized what was happening, his eyes went wide and frightened. ...why was Alfred choking him...?

"I never said I'd kill you. What makes you think that?" Alfred's eyes brightened with the last statement. Oh, England would die all right, but he'd be the one watching the fireworks.

When England conceded to return Arthur, Alfred already had some snarky reply. All the hate from the boy's face withdrew. He's thought that he had finally lost consciousness, and held him there moments longer for good measure. He didn't expect Arthur to return so soon. Belatedly noticing the life return in Arthur's working eye and the sad innocent face of Arthur show he was shocked. England could regress at will? Alfred immediately dropped him. Before the boy could tumble to the ground Alfred caught his shoulders and held him upright, sliding an arm behind him to support the boy at the dip of his back as he walked Arthur back to the couch. He didn't join him this time. Instead he knelled in front of him and gently inspected his face, feather light fingertips touching on his jaw turning him this way and that. He knew he hadn't damaged Arthur; instead he was stalling for time in formulating a plausible lie. What the hell happened? Even _he_ didn't know.

Dropping the pseudo-inspection, he looked up at Arthur gravely. "Arthur, I do believe England wants to hurt you again." Without looking away he held up the back of his left hand, the skin of his hand stretching over the bones with a fresh open puncture wound in the middle of it. "I had to restrained him. I'm very sorry, Arthur." Earlier that morning out of sheer boredom he played the knife game and butchered up his hand. Since college the knife game became a pastime when he was bored but he always injured himself. His hand was littered with faint marks, and even on the palms when the wounds were still healing. He still kept playing it, regardless. He really didn't know why. The cut wasn't nearly as bad as it looked, and it was even bleeding again when England scratched at it.

Arthur had small red spots right under his eyes from being choked. Spots were clouding his vision, and he still felt light-headed. He nodded at what Alfred said, dismissing the attack. He honestly didn't think that the doctor would choke him for no reason. "I-I'm sorry," he muttered. He felt guilty. Even if it _had_ been his other persona that had hurt Dr. Jones. Really, he shouldn't have been the one apologizing. He didn't remember much of what happened before his personality had reverted to England. Truthfully, he dismissed it as a dream, as he did most of the strange incidents that happened with the other. He knew what was happening to a certain extent, but he was in denial for the most part. He held his head in one of his hands, not able to shake the dizzy feeling. A red mark was dark on his neck, and a light bruise was already forming.

Alfred pat his knee reassuringly before he got up. He walked over a little tiredly to the chair and sat down heavily on it, pulled off his glasses to clean them on the corner of his shirt. "We have a few more minutes until your time is up," he said, propping the glasses back on his nose. Arms draped over the arms rests and slouched Alfred sighed heavily through his nose, dropped his head back on the back rest and contemplated what to do. There wasn't enough time for anything creative. In any case, he had to fix the rapport between them before Arthur left because. It was a bad idea to let Arthur dwell on anything negative _directly_ associated with him, stewing alone in his silence in the cell. Oh, it was okay if Arthur did that, just not about him.

Guess they'd just have to talk. It was worth one more shot, though. "Have you heard of memory reconsolidation? It's a psychoanalytic technique for "reprogramming" memories. It was introduced after the Great War as treatment for returning soldiers with shell-shock. Outside the science community I doubt anyone would really believe memory isn't something you can change. You can, actually. The issue with the brain and memories is that is it so complex things can get lost. Hope I'm not confusing you." Alfred grinned and went on. "It obvious to me that you're not ready for it. Obviously, because England is still present inside you. He's going to get in the way of whatever help I can give because he's afraid of what would happen to him. What do you think we should do?"

Arthur watched him walk back. The other looked fairly tired. Exhausted, even. He felt slightly upset by that. He could only assume that he was the cause. He listened to what the doctor was saying. It made enough sense. After all, he was smart. Just... considered unfit to live among other citizens by the state. He nodded. So that part hadn't been a dream, then. He should have known that Alfred was only trying to help him. He even felt slightly guilty that they couldn't continue with the treatment. He blinked, then. "...why don't you just do the same thing with him, then...? If he doesn't like you, find a way to make him..." he suggested. He hoped his idea didn't sound childish. Though, he wasn't exactly the expert when it came to psychology.

Dr. Jones sighed. "I think so too, but we're not on the best of terms," he said mournfully. He tapped his fingers on the arm rest, thinking. "I could talk to him. You can't solve conflicts without talking about the problem, else it will only fester underneath the lip service you give them when you try to get along." If only he could cajole England into liking him again, but he worried that he closed the door on that possibility already. The man inside the boy's body was already distrustful of the doctor and he couldn't use the same methods with Arthur on him. With Arthur he could appeal to his compassion and empathy, but he had to find out a way to be direct without giving away the truth.

He could pull it off, but it would be a long shot.

"Arthur," he began after his long pause. "Can I talk to England again?"

Arthur frowned. He wished he could help the doctor in some way. It was strange, though. This other person, it was him, but it wasn't. It was part of his mind, but he didn't feel it, nor hear it. It was difficult for him to even understand that he was sharing his mind space with someone else who was _also_ him. It was a strange concept. He was hoping that England could at least try. For him. He blinked when the question was asked. "...h-how...?" he questioned. "I can't just... be him. I don't know why he comes and goes. I don't remember him, and I've never spoken to him. There are just blank spots in my memory. I didn't even know he was there until you told me..."

"I mentioned speaking to England under hypno induction. I'd like to try that again. I think I may be able to wake you up in England's state, too. I haven't tried it with patients, but I can pull it off." His arrogance would almost be infuriating if he wasn't so charming. Alfred plucked his pen from the desktop and made his way back over to Arthur's side, already getting comfortable. He shifted close in his seat after Arthur lied down and held the pen over his head. He didn't move it, just continued looking down at the boy with a hint of a smile. "We'll get you better, Arthur." Impulsively he brought his lips down over Arthur's again, but like what happened in the electrotherapy room. A gentle kiss that lasted long enough for the warmth of his lips to transfer before pulling back with a small sound. "Arthur, I want you to focus on the tip of my pen without moving your head..." he began the hypnotherapy again.

Less than minutes later, Arthur was back in his hypnotic state. He wouldn't object anything that Alfred was willing to try. That was why he hadn't said anything when the other had suggested hypnotherapy. He didn't mind the doctor's attitude. After all, he looked up to the man. He was the only person he had to look up to, actually. The kiss had felt nice, though. Any affection was gratefully accepted these days. It was rarely given in the asylum. It was nice to be able to feel the closeness of another person. His eyes were closed, he was relaxed completely, and his breathing was even. Most would have mistaken him for sleeping.

Dr. Jones put the pen away. It wouldn't do to have another altercation if it could be avoided. "How are you feeling, Arthur?" He waited for his reply. Then he spoke the boy's name again, projecting his voice clearly. "I want you to let me talk to England. Don't worry, nothing bad will happen. I just need to speak with him." Even though Arthur outwardly complied to Alfred's suggestion and let himself be taken under, a part of him was possibly still resisting. Alfred sat with his fingers laced together on his lap, waiting. England hated him so much right now there was nothing to lose if this brainstorm idea botched up.

Arthur mind felt cloudy, and his entire body numb. "Good," he murmured. It took a few moments, but the relaxed look on his face shifted ever so slightly, and traces of the tense hateful face that England wore were now present. "What the Hell do you want?" he spat, hatefully. "Trying to choke me again? That worked swimmingly the last time, didn't it?" he said, sarcastically. He sighed in irritation and waited for a response. Though he couldn't see the man, he could feel his presence there. The warmth of his body, and eyes on him. He could also hear the doctor's steady breathing. It was strange.

Alfred privately rolled his eyes. England was such a grudge-holder. "You still sound angry," he said evenly, not meaning to mock as much as to reflect back England's feelings. "I admit that got out of hand, but... I'm sorry." He sounded truly apologetic, voice soft and low as he spoke the last words. If it would get England to trust him, he would go through any heights to do so. While he put Arthur under he thought about how to appeal to the man and decided his best course of action was to be as kind and as apologetic as he could. If he ever threatened England's feelings of self-righteousness it would all be over.

"I just want you to know that although my behavior has been deplorable, I've cared about Arthur since the moment he was admitted into the asylum. No, even before that. I heard him on the radio, and I read him in the paper. And since then I've only cared more deeply for the boy." He ghosted fingertips over Arthur's pulse, drew them up the inside of his arm, trailing along the faint scars before moving on, halting his ministrations right below the shirtsleeve. "I think we can both that say we care for Arthur. But, England..." His voice became inexorably lower, running his fingers in the boy's mop of hair firmly enough to feel delightful against his scalp. "I've come to care about you, too."

England scoffed slightly. "Of course I'm still angry. ...you _choked_ me," he retorted. At the apology, he stiffened. Was this some kind of trick? What did the doctor think he was pulling...? He waited, though, silent for him to continue. When he began to talk about Arthur, he relaxed slightly. Even as he was touched lightly, he couldn't help but relax. In their meeting before, Dr. Jones had been rather rough in his ministrations. This was... different. He thought about that as the man spoke, his breath stopping at the pause in the man's sentence. He froze once more, and frowned. A small part of him believed what the doctor was saying, though... "Is this supposed to be some sort of joke? You've already admitted on several occasions that you're trying to get rid of me." The other sounded so sincere, though... His voice got slightly softer. "...why should I trust you...?"

"I said it because I was scared that I would lose Arthur. You have more power over him than I do. I'm just his doctor, while you are his other half. Wouldn't you be scared if the person you loved was going to be taken away from you?" He stroked his cheek with the back of his fingers. "I would do anything to make you and Arthur stay." He watched for England's reaction upon hearing he was shared in Alfred's affections. Not for the first time Alfred found it fascinating different England was from Arthur, even in their facial expressions. While Arthur never showed hate like England did, shared emotions like curiosity and fear looked very different with each personality. "You should believe me because I'm telling the truth. I really care about you, England..."

England wanted to convince himself that this was a trick. This all made sense, though... He wasn't one to take chances. Hell, he wasn't one to even care about anyone. But he liked Alfred before their little arguments. He had enjoyed the other, despite how irritating and selfish he could be. In all reality, he was just _afraid_ of Alfred. Which was understandable. Dr. Jones was the only capable person that Arthur had ever encountered that might be able to get rid of him. Despite being a part of Arthur, he still had feelings, and memories, and everything that made up a person. He didn't want to go. "I'm half of a man," he said softly. "I don't understand why you'd care about me. Even if you do, I don't understand what that changes. What do you want from me?"

Alfred held his chin up on the heel of his hand, grinning foolishly. Even though England was capable of the most horrific deeds known to man, he saw so much of Arthur in him right now it reminded him of trying to coax a wild cat down from a tree. "If you trusted me with Arthur, why can't you trust me with yourself?" Every now and then he touched the plump of England's lips, his jawline, tracing over the shell of his ear to get him acquainted with his touch. "I know you are afraid. You've been protecting Arthur all these years. If you give in, there is no shield to protect either of you." England looked so beautiful right now. What he wouldn't give to just take him all for himself right now. Alfred swallowed, pushing away those thoughts for now.

England tensed slightly. "...you didn't answer my question. _What do you want_?" he questioned again, this time sounding slightly irritated from not getting an answer the first time. He was more willing now, but if the other avoided his questions, it would get him nowhere. His walls were going back up. Dodging around his questions was a red flag. He didn't notice the touch. He was too far under. He didn't see the need for being too aware when Alfred didn't seem to want trouble. Faintly, his mind registered the touches, but not to the extent that he would've been aware of them.

"Shh, it's okay." He gently squeezed Arthur's shoulder firmly enough for England to notice. He kept his hand there, brushing the fabric over Arthur's warm clavicle back and forth with his thumb. "What do I want? I want you to see that I really mean it when I say I care about you. _You_, England." He let his hand wander and began caressing the boy over his clothes, sensitizing his skin. "You share a body with Arthur but there's something about you in particular..." he wondered if he should pit the boys against each other "...I don't see it in Arthur. How do I say this without sounding insensitive? You have the allure of an adult man." He lowered his hand to the top of England's pants barely held up by his bony hips and kneaded his fingertips on his lower belly close to his groin. He continued on, his voice very low and soft. "Arthur is certainly young and fetching... but you aren't afraid to take what you want. As a man myself, I find that very intriguing."

England's breath hitched. He had always been the one that had to go. It was always Arthur who was the center of attention. He never thought it should be any different. After all, he was the dominant personality. England was secondary. He was second. Now, though... With Alfred's words, he felt great. He felt like he might actually matter aside from being able to protect Arthur. His body twitched lightly in reaction to the touches, and he began to pant lightly. These things went unnoticed to him, yet again. His face was feeling hot, and he was slightly flushed. His body was definitely reacting to what the doctor was doing, but his mind was trying to comprehend what had just been said. "I..." he began. "I'm not sure if it's safe to trust you," he admitted.

Alfred grinned almost manically, hovering over England with their faces only inches apart. "How do you know if you don't _try_? It's not like you to play it safe," he teased around a smile. It was so difficult not to throw himself on the boy like before. He needed to take as long as he could to coax the man into full arousal if he wanted his plan to work. It didn't actually help that England was semi-conscious, but it wasn't safe to seduce England when he could so easily put up his defenses if he sensed anything suspicious. Alfred was already taking a huge gamble because at any time he could fuck up and everything would be over. He may have no viable opportunity to appeal to England in order to seduce Arthur, and if it was his choice, he'd have England and Arthur _both_.

He began massaging around Arthur's groin through his clothes, never touching his manhood but touching the flesh all around it, watching England's face intently ready to let up at any indication that the man was uncomfortable.

Sometime during Alfred speaking, England's focus shifted to what was happening with his body. As strange as it was, he wasn't alarmed. Instead, he was leaning up slightly to the touch. ...as much as he could in this state. He was tensed a little, looking slightly uncomfortable. "J-Just touch m-me already, damn it..." he stuttered out. He was shifting as much as he could in irritation. At the moment, his mind was lost. He wanted this now. Now that he didn't hate Alfred. No... He was far from that point now. Which was funny, considering only mere minutes ago, he despised the man.

"I am touching you." He sounded too natural for someone who was feeling another person up. Of course he was purposefully missing Arthur's intention. He wanted the words straight from his mouth, preferably moaning. Though he was outwardly calm, inside adrenaline throbbed through his veins with the realization that England was so close to falling for him. "Do you _just_ want me to touch you, England? Would you really be satisfied with just that?" Alfred squeezed between England's legs in the area where his leg met his body, just shy from his testicles. Alfred breathed hotly into his ear, his voice finally breaking into rough pants. "I can make you come screaming until your throat is hoarse. I'll make you feel things you never knew you could feel. I'll take you away from this god forsaken place and you will forget all the other men who forced themselves on your body and mind and spirit. I'll be your _real_ first. Say it, England. Say what you want."

England let out a soft whine. ..._that_ was definitely not normal. He was shuddering at the slightest touch, his pants already tight, and his erection quite obvious from this angle. "A-Ah... P-Please..." he muttered. "F-Fuck me..." He felt pathetic for giving in so easily. But he'd never felt this aroused, and he already knew that sex would feel so much better than a hand job ever could. He would be squirming if he could manage to move. ...which reminded him... "I... C-Can you w-wake me up?" he questioned. He was past the point of giving in. He'd do anything. In the moment, he forgot all the people who had abused him and Arthur. He forgot where he was, and why. He forgot what life was like before Alfred. ...he forgot that he probably _shouldn't_ be doing this. He'd never felt like this before. No one had ever taken the time to make sure he or Arthur were satisfied. He just wanted the doctor to take him, and that was all that mattered. Regrets could be had later. Now didn't seem like the appropriate time.

england-has-swag.

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com/post/35586268753/chapter-12-nsfw

((The above link is a continuation of this chapter. I have had people request that I just post the chapter. I'm sorry, but it isn't worth a ban from the site. I know plenty of people who have already gotten banned, and it would strip me of my beta status, and delete all of my stories. I'm not mad at anyone who requests, but the link above should work. I've tried it three times. If you just copy from england to nsfw, then paste, it will work. Like I said, I'm sorry, but it isn't worth the ban. Most people are fine with sex scenes, and that isn't what I'm worried about. I honestly could nearly care less about offending people. But it's against the rules of the site, if you'd care to read them. I'm sorry.

**Spoiler**

For anyone who doesn't want to, or can't read the link, England and Alfred were having sex in his office, and England regressed back into Arthur's mind. Arthur was unaware of what was happening, but was lost with pleasure for the moment. After they both finished, he questioned Alfred, confused and hurt. That leads into the next chapter.))


	13. Regret

Alfred rolled his eyes at the look on Arthur's face. "Oh, please. Don't tell me you didn't like it. You never came so much in your life. You really like me, don't you? You touched yourself when you thought of me. Well, didn't you?" He hoped overwhelming Arthur with uncomfortable questions would distract him from the current situation.

Arthur felt like he was going to be sick. He honestly didn't know what to think of this. He just felt horrid. He slowly stood, still trembling. At Alfred's words, he felt absolutely worthless. He stared at the floor, not bothering to cover himself. He didn't deserve that. He didn't answer. Just stayed silent and stared at the floor. In fact, he chose to ignore the question. "A-Are we done here...?" he stuttered out. He wanted to leave, but at the same time, he wanted to stay. He wanted Alfred to tell him that everything was all right. That it was a misunderstanding. He'd believe anything right now if it meant that he didn't have to give up on the one person who seemed to care about him. He just wanted the doctor to hug him and tell him it had all been a dream. He felt childish for it. How was he supposed to feel, though? Pleased? Of course not. Tears were brimming in his eyes, and he looked up at Dr. Jones. He looked small. As a child would. Though, he wasn't really an adult yet. He was close, but he looked younger than his age at the moment. He looked... broken.

Alfred stared at Arthur mutely- eyes brimmed with tears staring right back at him, the ugliness over half of his face, his nakedness he was too far gone to cover- then turned away. His chest felt tight and claustrophobic as he swallowed a huge lump in his throat. This was ridiculous. He knew exactly what Arthur wanted, so it should be okay to do it. He was probably feeling raw after the sex and England's sleight of hand.

At a loss for alternatives, and maybe because he wanted to do it, Alfred breached the remaining space between them and tethered him into a tight hug. It was snug but not uncomfortable, so Arthur could breathe with his face in Alfred's chest because Alfred's hand pressed his head forcefully against it. His other arm embraced him properly. Alfred rested his chin on top of the mess of hair, adorable and heartbreaking the way some of the tufts stood up from his forceful hands and dried sweat. They remained like this for a while until Alfred gave in a rocked them back and forth, kissing Arthur's temple with dry warm lips. He was faking it, but it felt real.

Arthur's heart dropped when the other turned away. At first he thought he was just being rejected. Then, he was surprised when he was pulled into the hug. He wrapped his arms around Alfred in return, and cried shakily into the man's uniform for a few minutes. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel. Part of him was scared that the doctor would turn out just like all the other nice men who had seemed to care about him. He shoved that to the back of his mind, and gripped the man's shirt in his fists. The more he thought about it, the less betrayed he felt. Alfred would never do something to hurt him like that. England must have convinced him to have sex. Maybe he had pretended to be Arthur. It would make sense. After all, Dr. Jones had said how England might be trying to hurt him again. ...and it was better to believe that than to believe the truth.

"I know. God, I know," he murmured into Arthur's ear as he rocked him. He continued kissing Arthur, on his left side. He rubbed Arthur's back, feeling the goose bumps on the boy's skin when he slid his hands back up where they left. It was cold in his office. His fingers strummed across Arthur's bony ribs and squeezed his arm tighter around them. There was a knock on his door but he ignored it. He must have been over an hour behind schedule but he didn't give a damn. Holding Arthur felt.. nice. It was too soon to be aroused again but he didn't mind holding Arthur like this, and a little bit more. Peppering more kisses on Arthur's face he gradually migrated lower until he was kissing close to the corner of Arthur's mouth, gauging Arthur's reaction his readiness to let himself be kissed by Alfred.

Arthur sniffled. He was shivering a little from the coldness in the room. He didn't notice the knock in the door. He just focused on how nice this felt. He hadn't been hugged in such a long time. It didn't matter what had happened. It didn't matter that he still wasn't clothed. All that mattered was Alfred holding him right now. He looked up as the doctor's mouth got close to his. It didn't matter to him if the other kissed him or not. Anything was better than thinking about what had just happened. He yawned softly, and looked at Alfred hopefully.

Alfred took the look on Arthur's face as initiative and touched their lips together in a gentle but firm kiss, catching the other's upper lip and sucking, rolling the tip of his tongue underneath the wet smoothness before breaking apart with a quiet smack. They continued staring at each other before the mood was broken with another pounding at Dr. Jones' door, this time with fists. Reluctantly breaking away Dr. Jones told him to hurry and get dressed before taking his time arriving at the door. Checking back once to see that Arthur was dressed he opened the door to his colleague and Dr. Beilschmidt, who glared back at Alfred red-faced and openly stressed.

"Dr. Jones," he began lowly. It was obvious that he was trying very hard to keep his temper in check. "I have been taking your patients for the last _hour and a half_." His glare flicked to Arthur's crying face and disheveled appearance- he could guess what just happened. "You sick bastard," he seethed, the color rising in his face looking like he was about to come undone.

Alfred looked a little nervous as he shifted on his feet. Dr. Beilschmidt had his eye on Jones for a while but he'd never witnessed anything as obvious as this. True, there was nothing to see, but he could smell the sex in the air and the terrified look in Arthur's eye. Alfred's appearance, too, while usually impeccable had some muss in his hair from England puling on it earlier. Jones looked on at Ludwig blankly, folding his arms and hanging nonchalantly against the door frame as they continued to stare each other down, neither allowing themselves to look away. "Arthur," Dr. Jones finally said, eyes never wavering from Ludwig. "Be a good boy and go to your room. I need to speak with Dr. Beilschmidt."

Arthur quickly got dressed. He stared at the ground as Ludwig and Dr. Jones spoke, then quickly hurried out and to his room when he was told to. He desperately wanted to take a shower, but he wasn't sure if he'd get in trouble for not going directly to his room as Alfred had instructed. He sat on his bed with his head in his hands, taking deep breaths, and again feeling as if he was going to be sick. He wanted to know what was happening. He hoped Alfred didn't get in trouble, but at the same time... he hoped he did. Just a small part of him. Even when having that thought, he felt bad about it. Dr. Jones had taken him in when he had no one, and showed him that he was cared about, and trusted. It was wrong of him to ever wish anything bad on the man, even after what had just happened. He'd already convinced himself that the other had a just cause for that. He would just wait until their next meeting for the other to explain. He curled up on his bed, feeling sick and worthless with the other's cum leaking out of him.


	14. Trust

As soon as Arthur left Ludwig rushed into the office, slamming the door behind him with a force that could have cracked the walls. Arthur could hear irate screaming bellowing down the hall as Arthur ran farther and farther away.

It was a surprisingly short amount of time before Alfred visited him again, perhaps a half an hour. A chiming of keys rattling in the lock and Dr. Jones stepped into the room, looking no worse for wear. As far as Arthur could see, there was no physical altercation between the two men. In Alfred's hand was Arthur's jacket which was presumably the reason why he visited. The man knelled at Arthur's "bedside," settling the jacket aside for now. "How are you feeling?"

Arthur was slightly surprised when Alfred opened the door. He hadn't expected a visit so soon, and he hadn't expected it to be Alfred. He tensed as he saw the strait jacket. He hated the thing. He hoped, though it was unlikely, that the doctor wouldn't put him back in it. He looked away. "Horrible," he muttered. There was no point in lying.

"That's understandable." He sat crossed-legged with his elbows on his knees, arms hanging over his lap taking in Arthur curled-up form. The boy was in the smallest uniform issue yet it hung off his hollow frame like drapes, but to Alfred it was the most desirable sight. Not even an hour passed and Alfred wanted him again. He wondered who the next person he would fuck, England or Arthur. Alfred sighed, brushing a hand over Arthur's arm. "Was what I did really hurtful to you? It's only because I love you, you know." His hand followed down the length of Arthur's arm and held his hand in his.

"You won't hurt yourself, will you?" He meant the straight jacket. "If you promise not to hurt yourself you don't have to wear the restraints. Consider it an apology." After peppering kisses along Arthur's bony knuckles he left his hand alone, letting it drop on the mattress again.

Arthur thought the touch felt nice. But when Alfred spoke next, he tasted bile in the back of his throat. "...s-sex isn't love..." he murmured. That hurt for him to even think about. Did that mean that all the men before had did it for love, too? Though... This time _had_ definitely been different. He'd never gotten pleasure out of the act before.

"You're right, sex isn't love. But you can show love through sex." He rubbed his back soothingly, heating up the boy's body temperature while he did it. "You've had a terrible past with men who used sex to hurt you. It's understandable that you would feel that way. But I'm here to help you. Healing hurts sometimes, it's natural, but don't mistake it for pain." He gently turned Arthur so that he was finally facing the man, who looked on at him with smile. He looked kind, and almost candid with the way he sat cross-legged in front of him with his bangs falling in his face as he looked down. But then he slowly turned somber and the wide calming circles on Arthur's back abated. "Would you prefer if I transferred you to Dr. Beilschmidt's clientele instead? Maybe he'd be best for you."

Arthur began feeling a little better with Alfred there. It was nice to have someone there for him. He smiled weakly back at the other. What had he been thinking? Alfred had told him he loved him. That meant something. That meant he was cared about. He also had a bad experience with that, though. It seemed as though anyone who loved him had hurt him. It was hard for him to trust. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Yes, what had just happened was concerning, but the doctor loved him. Dr. Jones was the only one he had now. When the other suggested transferring doctors, he stiffened noticeably, and shook his head. "N-No..." he murmured, a little too quickly to not sound panicked. He looked away to the best of his ability with the way that he was laying. "...I l-love you, too..." he murmured.

Alfred beamed and patted Arthur's head. He knew the boy didn't mean it when he said he loved him. It was something to look forward to, Alfred guessed. He was definitely going to make Arthur fall in love with him.

"I should get going." Alfred picked up the straight jacket as he stood up. He held it out and dangled it next to Arthur. "Can I trust you to behave?" He jingled the buckles that clacked against each other, gleaming dully as they passed the dim light in the room. Dr. Jones clutched the jacket in the crook of his elbow and made his way for the door. As he unlocked it he said airily, "I hope all that has happened remains between you and me. It gets complicated when others, although good-willed, contaminate a patient's progress by interfering with the process." Alfred shot Arthur another winning smile before he was gone.

Arthur's smile brightened slightly as his head was patted. He blinked up at Alfred as he stood, and tensed when the strait jacket was dangled next to him. He nodded quickly. Anything was better than being put in that again. He hesitated a moment before nodding at the other's statement. _Of course_, he wanted to say. But the doctor had already left. He sat up in his bed, feeling better than he had before. Curious, he rolled down the top of his pants just slightly to get a small look at his side. It was dotted with bruises.

He would have visited sooner, but picking up Dr. Jones' slack pushed his own workload back considerably. On top of his own responsibilities, he had spent the last day fervently sorting through his interview notes with Jones' patients for any hint of malpractice Jones could possibly be engaged in. Somehow all three of them refused to answer anything related to the doctor or his treatment, instead changing the subject nervously. It was wrong of him, but Ludwig needed viable evidence to take to the board if he wanted someone like Dr. Jones' license rescinded, and hopefully criminalized.

He wanted more than anything to break into the man's office and steal the evidence himself. He considered it countless times, but the cons overbalanced the pros. Although it pained him, knowing in the meanwhile Dr. Jones was abusing more patients, he had to take it slow and find the right time.

He hoped Arthur would be his "right time." Ludwig suspected since the beginning that Alfred had taken an unusual interest in the boy, and not just because he was a pseudo-celebrity. It wasn't until around the time Arthur was attacked that the boy was growing an unhealthy dependency on him. This he knew from speaking with his brother, Gilbert. Arthur told Gilbert that he knew Dr. Jones was manipulating him, but in what way Ludwig didn't know. Recovery, to patients, could just as easily be seen as manipulation, because many patients including Arthur were held here against their will and viewed any kind of interjection by the doctors as a threat. Ludwig experienced this himself many times. In his very first session with Feliciano the boy hid inside the leg space of his office desk and would not come out until he bribed him with a sweet.

Ludwig opened the door to Arthur's cell with the key he received from Gilbert. "Mr. Kirkland? Do you have a moment? I would like to speak with you." He stood by the doorway having learned that his severe looks and imposing height did him even less good when he was proximately close to others.

Arthur had been doing what he normally did to pass the time... Sleep. There was virtually nothing else to do, and he hadn't been allowed in the common room since his escape attempt. All he could think about was his session with Alfred. He wondered when he would be able to see the doctor again. As sad as it was, he already missed him.

When Ludwig entered his room, Arthur rolled over onto his back and stretched a little before sitting up. He looked tired, and he hadn't gotten a chance to shower. ...which was unfortunate considering what happened yesterday. Apparently the nurses were busy with other patients, though. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, then nodded. At first, he wondered what this may have been about. Then, he realized that the man probably had questions about yesterday. He stiffened. He was already making the decision of not saying anything negative about Alfred, and not revealing what had happened yesterday. The doctor was only trying to help him to the best of his ability, right?

He sat with his legs folded, still half under the covers. He laughed nervously. "Of course I have a minute," he joked. "I have more than that, actually," he said, but with his nervousness, his voice broke at the last word. Though, that could be blamed easily on puberty. After all, he was still a teen.

Of course Arthur had a moment; he had the whole rest of his life for "a moment." Ludwig coughed into his fist, face brightening for a moment. "My mistake." He was so used to meaningless pleasantries that sometimes he forgot when it was entirely inappropriate.

"I'm sure you would like a change of view, so please step into my office with me so we can talk." Like Alfred, he didn't bother with restraints as he stepped outside, biding for Arthur to walk with him. It was a tense journey to the doctors' offices, Ludwig ruminating on what to say and just being a generally quiet person. It was terribly uncomfortable, though, and Ludwig tried to break the silence here and there. "I am Feliciano's doctor. He adores you and has told me so much about you. I'm glad you and him get along so well."

Arthur shook his head with a small smile, dismissing it. It wasn't that offensive to it. It was a hard thing to think about it, but if he couldn't handle it, then he wouldn't have made a joke. He was relaxing slightly as it seemed they were just going to make meaningless conversation for the time being. He quickly got out of the room when instructed. That was a relief. Even if he had just been out yesterday, he had been in his room alone for so long before that. He hated being alone with his mind sometimes. He glanced at Ludwig when the man began to speak, and smiled nervously. "Yes... Well, Feliciano is a very nice person."

"That's one way to describe him," he replied gruffly as he unlocked his door. Though his words were rough there was a detectable fondness even through his harsh accent. He let Arthur through the door and shut it, gesturing Arthur to sit as he claimed his own chair across from Arthur at the desk. The most noticeable thing that differentiated the two doctors was the clutter. While Alfred had what was called organized chaos, Ludwig's office _was_ organized. Ludwig's office was more austere than Alfred's, and while he shared some of the same books that neutrally dovetailed in all psychology disciplines, Ludwig obviously preferred behavioral practice judging by the subjects of his reference books that towered an entire wall. Impersonal framed photographs of architecture stood on the walls, and there was a framed quote in German angled towards Ludwig right on his desk. The most warmth in the room was a single potted plant sunbathing at the window, as was a peculiar jar of sweets in a glass bowl on his desk that was most likely _not_ for him.

"Help yourself to a sweet," Ludwig said absently as he piled up some papers, presumably notes.

Arthur was slightly surprised at the state of Ludwig's office. For some reason, he'd just assumed that it might look exactly as Alfred's would. He shrugged it off before sitting. He couldn't help but notice how formal this was compared to what sessions with Dr. Jones were like. It made him a little nervous, though it probably shouldn't have. Personally, he didn't want any sweets. He was sure that Ludwig would probably replace any that he'd take, but he didn't feel as though they were for himself. He smiled slightly as he thought of Feli. He felt extremely out of place here. He was glad that he hadn't requested a transfer. Even if Alfred's methods were a little... questionable, he'd grown used to the casual environment during their meetings. He felt stiffer than usual. "No thank you," he murmured, staring at the ground, as he was so used to doing around anyone that wasn't Dr. Jones or Feliciano.

Ludwig grunted in reply, obviously not minding either way. "Feli told me what happened with your eye injury. I'm sorry that it happened." Having a good look at it for the first time it was unsettling that it happened to be on the same side with his terrible burn marks, but all he could feel was pity for the boy. Before Arthur was admitted and the trial was on the radio, Jones and he debated over the true reason why Arthur murdered his parents. Jones speculated it was some pathological disassociation, but Ludwig argued it was deliberate but could only come from experiencing a very disturbed childhood. Both agreed it didn't mean he wasn't sick and needed help. Only both men's idea of "help" differed, too.

"Don't worry, Mr. Kirkland. You are not in trouble. But I'm sure you're curious as to why I called you into my office. Do you have an idea why?" He hoped this wasn't a futile endeavor.

Arthur didn't say anything to the apology as he stared at the ground. He didn't want pity. All it did was make him feel worse. He noticeably tensed at the question, and looked back up at Ludwig, smiling nervously. "I'm not sure," he said quickly. "Is it because I tried to run away again...?" he questioned. He knew exactly why he was here. He was just avoiding the issue in an attempt to make Alfred seem more innocent than he really was. He fidgeted in his seat, already feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the entire situation.

Arthur's feigned ignorance caused the corners of his lips to tick downward. He wasn't surprised the boy was defending Alfred. Given the special treatment the doctor gave him, if anyone, Arthur would be the doctor's strongest supporter, yet he held the unique position of also being the first to bring the man forward.

There was no reason for pretenses or leading questions. Both Arthur and Ludwig knew why he called him into his office and there was no point in hiding the reason. "Frankly, I am worried about you and Dr. Jones' patients. I suspect- no, I _know_- he has been up to something, but my hands are tied by the law. As much as I hate to admit this, I need help." Dr. Beilschmidt locked his severe eyes on Arthur's refusing to budge. "If you want "Alfred" to stop abusing you, you need to cooperate with me."

Arthur's smile faded with Ludwig's. He glared at the doctor. "If you think that is abuse, then you don't know what abuse is," he murmured. "Alfred is helping me get better." He was not about to get Dr. Jones in trouble. That was the only person he had. The man was the only person who cared for him. He'd even told Arthur that he loved him. Maybe if Ludwig would've come to him sometime after the surgery on his eye, he would've said different. It was too late now, though. The doctor had manipulated him too much already for him to tell anyone what was wrong. ...and coming from a home of abuse, he was used to hiding things, anyway. Really, it was no surprise that he wouldn't put any blame on Alfred.

Ludwig suppressed a bubble of anger, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had come off too strong, perhaps. He wouldn't believe Arthur was too far gone. There was always hope. "You are protecting him. I know that. It's not wrong to want to protect someone who is helping you. But, Arthur, that is not help." How can one reason with someone who doesn't know what normal is? No wonder Arthur was so dependent on Alfred. The boy misconstrued obsession for love. Arthur's doctor was supposed to build a caring relationship with the boy, but he had only exploited the boy's twisted reality of the world deigning himself the puppet master.

"What is help is making you feel like you are worth something." Ludwig's "s"s sounded more like "z"s. "What is done is done. Accept that you have killed your family. But the best thing you can do now is be a good person." Removing his fingers he watched Arthur very carefully. "Does Alfred make you feel like a good person?"

Arthur was in complete denial about what Ludwig was saying. He blatantly refused to believe any of it. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the chair. At the question, he paused for a long moment to think. "He gives me a reason to live," he responded softly, after what felt like forever. He was careful not to lie, but not to give away the truth. Alfred made him feel worthless unless he was right by the doctor's side. The man made him feel as if he was nothing without him. "He _is_ helping me. ...at least I know what's wrong with me, now. ...and I know what happened the night my family died, too."

"This isn't just about you!" Ludwig slammed his fists on the solid mahogany desk, setting his notes a flutter. His chair flipped back from the force of which he stood up, towering over the boy without meaning to. His face bloomed with anger. "Do you think you are the only one Jones has seduced?! Dr. Jones has had hundreds of patients within his career. There will be hundreds more because of patients like you who refuse to speak up!" The words seethed through his teeth, shoulders heaving with emotions before he pulled away. He looked sickened with the boy.

"Just get out of my office." Up righting the chair he sat back down, smoothing out his bedraggled hair without looking at him. "You know the way back. Or try to escape. I don't care." Another failure.

Arthur flinched as Ludwig stood. He stared at the floor as the man yelled, part of him waiting to be beaten. That's what he always thought when an older man would yell at him. Years of it had conditioned him into it. He stood when directed, quickly making his way towards the door. He opened the door, but paused right before leaving. "...you know..." he murmured. "...you almost had me convinced that you cared. You only proved Alfred and myself right. He's the only one who will ever care about me," he said softly, before shutting the door gently behind him. He walked to his room slowly, wishing he could go see Dr. Jones instead. He didn't want to bother the man, though. After all, he could be with a patient. So, he went back to his room, and curled up in bed, quickly drifting to sleep to escape his thoughts of doubt.

Arthur flinched as Ludwig stood. He stared at the floor as the man yelled, part of him waiting to be beaten. That's what he always thought when an older man would yell at him. Years of it had conditioned him into it. He stood when directed, quickly making his way towards the door. He opened the door, but paused right before leaving. "...you know..." he murmured. "...you almost had me convinced that you cared. You only proved Alfred and myself right. He's the only one who will ever care about me," he said softly, before shutting the door gently behind him. He walked to his room slowly, wishing he could go see Dr. Jones instead. He didn't want to bother the man, though. After all, he could be with a patient. The next best thing was to take a small walk around before returning to his room. ...that shouldn't be too much of an issue, right?

Francis was in the common room, sitting on one of the couches, and watching the rest of the patients, bored out of his mind. Nobody that he usually spoke to was here, and due to his "condition," a lot of the patients ignored him. Not that it bothered him that much, though. With a small sigh, he stood up to stretch, and saw Arthur passing by in the hallway. He smiled, glad to see that the teen was up and about. He'd heard about the latest escape attempt, and had wished him luck with the consequences. He jogged over to the doorway and waved him in. Might as well. There was nothing else to do.

Arthur was about halfway through with his walk when Francis gestured him into the common room. Well, that was a way to cure him of his boredom, and get him out of his own thoughts. He wanted to have a word with Francis, anyway. It angered him that the other seemed to be happy to see him. After all, the man supposedly hated him. He frowned as he came in, and led the way to the corner of the room, where it was nearly empty, and sat on the couch back there.

The Frenchman's smile faltered as Arthur came in frowning. ...was the boy okay...? Had something just happened? He was completely unaware that Alfred had said anything about him hating Arthur. When they got to the small secluded area, he sat on the couch next to the other, still trying to smile to maybe lighten the mood.

The younger was holding a slight glare towards Francis before he spoke. "Why do you want me in here? I thought you hated me...?" he questioned, feeling no need to be shy about the issue he was having.

Francis' look was one of confusion. He didn't really know what to say. "What gave you that idea...?" he replied, accent thick. He didn't really understand what could've even made Arthur think that he hated him.

The boy laughed. "You don't want a dead Englishman stinking up your room? Isn't that what you said? The reason why you saved me?" he spat.

Francis still looked incredibly confused. "Look... Arthur... I don't know where you got the idea that I hate you, but I assure you, it's quite the opposite," he said with a soft smirk, still attempting to lighten the mood.

Arthur... wasn't exactly sure what to say to that. "Why should I trust you?" he questioned quickly, not knowing what else he could reply with.

Because there were no guards in the common room, it left room for Francis to do what he did next. He switched his position to straddle Arthur, getting close to his face. "...because I've heard about the other issues that you had. Issues like mine? There are rumors, you know. ...and I think you're fairly interesting." He was slightly surprised that the other hadn't objected to his shift in positions. He put his mouth right by the other's ear to whisper in it. "...if you know what I mean."

Arthur was frozen in place. He didn't know what to do. No one else aside from Dr. Jones had ever done anything remotely like this before. It didn't feel unpleasant, but that didn't mean he was comfortable.

Francis moved his lips to the Englishman's neck, and began biting and sucking along it. He was surprised once more at getting no rejection. Well, until the man came back to his senses and pushed him off. He stood, looking slightly disappointed.

Arthur stood as well. "I'm s-sorry," he murmured. "I have to go." He quickly left the room, and went back to his own room, thinking the entire time about how not going straight to his room had been a bad idea. He quickly fell asleep, wanting to escape his thoughts of everything that had just happened.

Francis was, as said before, disappointed. However, he smirked a little to himself as he saw the marks left on the younger boy's neck. He'd obviously come on too strong. He liked Arthur. Maybe if the hospital had enough guards to station one in the common room, then this might not have happened. At least Arthur would have time to think about what had just happened. After all, he didn't want to push anything on the boy. After hearing about what he'd done, he'd assumed that Arthur was someone you probably didn't want to piss off.

The altercation with Ludwig left Dr. Jones seriously considering skipping town. After Arthur left Ludwig demanded that he explain himself and threatened him with prosecution when he had enough evidence to criminalize him. Alfred took it in stride, casually regarding the man with hands in his pockets and refusing to give any of himself away. When Ludwig finally left, he paid Arthur a quick visit, already anticipating Ludwig would talk to the boy, and took the next day off to make preparations in case Arthur did betray him.

He used to think that no one would ever catch on and that he could continue with his game for the rest of his professional career, but with Sesel and Ludwig at his heels he was starting to consider that he might have to flee the country soon and start over somewhere else, perhaps America. Leave it to some jealous bitch and a kraut to ruin his life. And yet he stayed, convinced that Arthur would not forsake him. He must be that crazy for the boy.

He called for Arthur the moment he got in the office. Despite his gamble, he was still nervous about Arthur's faith in him. They did not leave on the best of terms, and taking away the straightjacket wasn't the best insurance to keep him quiet. When Arthur finally came to his office and Gilbert dismissed, Alfred's foolish grin widened watching him with his chin in his hand. He _knew_ Arthur would be faithful to him. Unable to take how cute Arthur looked sitting alone in the chair that dwarfed his small frame Alfred quickly came over to him and kissed him warmly, eyes fluttering shut briefly before pulling away. Rubbing an affectionate thumb over and over the soft mound of his cheek, his voice was equally gentle. "Ludwig asked you about me, didn't he?" Continued petting. "And you didn't say anything bad."

Arthur was happy when he was called down to Dr. Jones office. He'd been hoping the man was okay after all of Ludwig's questioning. It had worried him that something might have happened. He came in and sat down, feeling slightly anxious. He smiled at Alfred as he was kissed, and leaned into the touch. He knew he made the right decision. This was nice. Alfred was nice. Being with him was fantastic. He nodded. "He got upset when I wouldn't say anything. I told him that you were helping me, and he didn't believe me. He... lost his temper, though. He yelled at me, and slammed his hands on the desk. I think he's just frustrated that he can't hurt you," he explained, still smiling. The marks left from the day before were still plainly visible, though Arthur was completely unaware that they were even there. He tried to avoid looking in the mirror as much as he could after the fire.

The arrogance in his laughter was evident. "Of course he can't catch me. We'll look after each other, and it will all work out right." His thumb smoothed over the boy's light flush from the kiss, over his jawbone, down to his neck where he spotted a little mark on the alabaster skin. He thought it was a stain, but when it did not rub away Alfred froze. Blue eyes flicked to the boy for any signal that gave him away, but the boy looked blissfully on. It made him even angrier somehow. Love mark pinched cruelly between the side of forefinger and thumb, he use it to pull Arthur up out of the seat. He twisted the delicate skin it to elicit an even greater cry. "Maybe you didn't betray me with words, but there are worse things a lover can do to his partner." He pinched Arthur even hard to prove his point. "Who the fuck gave this to you?!"


	15. Lost

((The first part of this chapter is in a link, as before. Warnings: rape, victim blaming, major character death.))

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((Summary for anyone not wanting to read, or unable to use the link: Alfred raped Arthur for "not keeping his body to himself." He blamed the other, and said something along the lines of "Maybe you really are a whore for all the men you let take you." In this chapter, Arthur blames himself for what happened, and is asking Alfred for forgiveness.))

His aim was to make Arthur actively go _to_ him, to take the initiative to beg on his own behalf rather than for Alfred to have to force it out of him. Arthur wasn't dependent on him enough. But, if Arthur was worth his love, he would beg for forgiveness for betraying that love. Wasn't it enough that Arthur was his most cherished patient? Wasn't it enough that he was loved by the most prestigious young psychiatrist in all of London? The more Alfred ruminated, the angrier he became. Why should he even give Arthur the chance? It was obvious the boy had not changed from his whorish ways. Perhaps he had been overly ambitious when he took on Arthur as his new favorite.

Arthur had cried for about ten more minutes after that. He shakily sat up, but didn't get off of the ground. He didn't deserve it. "I-I'm sorry," he said, looking up at Alfred. He began shaking a little again. "I d-don't deserve you. Please... Y-You're the only one I h-have... Please forgive me..." He said quickly. He hated himself even more now. The doctor was right. He was always right. He let himself be taken advantage of too easily. He deserved everything that had happened. He didn't deserve Alfred, or his love. He was disgusted with himself. "P-Please," he begged once more. He fought the urge to rest his head against the man's leg, reminding himself that he didn't deserve it. Instead, his head rested against the cold wood of the desk. "I'm s-sorry th-that I stained your pants, t-too." The way he saw it, this was all his fault. After all, if he would've told Francis no sooner, there would be no mark on his neck, and Dr. Jones wouldn't have had to teach him this lesson. He looked up with a pleading gaze.

"If you were really sorry," The terrible ripping sound of the letter opener shrilling the air. "You'd make it up to me." He continued reading his letters and paying no mind to the naked boy all but curled up around his legs. The silence was eerie, broken only by the tearing, folding and refolding of paper. As the monotonous routine wore on it became obvious that Alfred has no incentive to speak again, fine with the disjunctive setting of sorting mail in the presence of a broken boy who desperately wanted reassurance from his rapist.

Arthur hung his head. He thought for a long while before speaking. "I'll do anything," he murmured. He just wanted Alfred's love again. More than anything. He was shivering slightly from the cold, but made no attempt to put his clothing back on. His eyes were pleading with Alfred. "Please... Let me make it up to you."

For the first time Alfred deigned to look down on Arthur, blond eyebrow quirking skeptically. "I don't think you mean that," he replied archly. He went back to his letters, voice arrant. "I don't forgive easily, Arthur. You should know that by now. And you should know that by earning my trust back it must be met with the same magnitude to your deceit." Rolling his neck on the chair back, Alfred tipped his head back looking at the boy a little sideways. From his position with his back arched, he lowered the letter opener into Arthur's waiting hands. "I think you know what to do with that." The doctor set the letters in two piles, neatly tapping one pile even on the desk and filing them away, with the other pile waiting for waste.

Arthur stared for a while at the letter opener, not exactly sure what he was supposed to do. After what seemed to him like forever, something clicked, and he realized what he was supposed to do. He nodded slowly, then stood. He quickly got dressed (after all, it would be difficult to walk the hallways of the asylum naked), and went to look for Francis. About an hour later, Arthur walked back into the doctor's office, covered in blood. He fell to his knees in front of Alfred, and the letter opener fell from his hand. "Please forgive me," he muttered, resting his head against the man's leg. His gaze was vacant. "He's dead."

Arthur didn't know what to think, or how to feel about what he'd just done. He felt utterly numb. He'd stabbed one of his only friends over thirty times with a letter opener. But it was for Alfred's forgiveness. That was why he hadn't hesitated. He was so far gone that he would do anything. Apparently Francis had hated him, anyway. Tears were falling down his cheeks, but there were no sounds from his crying. He wondered when the guards would pick him up. Wondered when they'd find the man's body. He felt disgusted with himself. Though… that was nothing new.

When Arthur returned covered in blood, Alfred knew he did it. He stood from his chair as Arthur approached, carded his fingers through his hair when he fell to his knees. "Arthur..." His finger pads were firm and felt exquisite against his scalp. "Did you stab Francis with my letter opener?" he asked gently. What a strange question. No words, only petting Arthur, rubbing his scalp and feeling the shape of his skull until the guards came for him.

Shouts echoed down the hall followed by the squeaking of shoes and a moment later the door slammed open and Gilbert, covered in blood, sprinted in followed by several other men. Alfred watched on as they viciously took the unresisting Arthur to the ground, twisting his arms so far up his behind him they almost reached the back of his neck. The doctor simply slid his hands into the pockets of his buttoned-up jacket.

Gilbert wrenched the boy to his feet and began hauling him away as turned back at the doctor. "What happened?! The French queer was stabbed! He's fucking dead!" From the looks of it, Gilbert held Francis until he passed and then had obviously followed the trail of blood all the way to Alfred's office.

"It's my fault. I was careless and left the tool in an unlocked drawer and, while I was preoccupied, he must have stolen it." Alfred sighed self-deprecatingly. "He came back to confess, but, well..." he shrugged dismissively. "I'll leave it to you to handle it."

Gilbert snarled as he tugged on the boy's arms. "You've had it too good, kid. You're going to the Hole."

Arthur had smiled and closed his eyes as Alfred ran his hands through his hair. He nodded slightly to the man's question. This was nice. This was what he wanted.

When he was restrained, he didn't fight, and instead just managed a small grin at the doctor, so that only he could see. When he was pulled up, his face went serious, and he shakily said, "I killed him in self-defense. He raped me," he lied. "I was carrying the letter opener because I was afraid of something happening. He... came on to me in the common room yesterday. So I went to speak with him, and he raped me before I got a chance to use my weapon. Afterwards, he said he would kill me if I ever told anyone, and told me to come back the next day for more. So I killed him." He paused. "I have the injuries to prove that I was raped." He had thought that up as he'd been looking for Francis. It might, at the very least, lessen his sentence. He frowned. "I still feel guilty," he murmured. "That's why I came to confess to Dr. Jones. I was just telling him this."

Arthur's confession gave Gilbert pause, powder-white face lined with skepticism as he reflexively checked back at Alfred's face for validation. Jones shrugged at Gilbert, eyes blinking shut with the lazy gesture. "It's what he said." Gilbert openly scoffed and kept going, pulling Arthur along. Clearly he wasn't buying it. When the albino wasn't looking Alfred shared with Arthur the surprise he felt from the boy's quick fib, eyebrows lifted impressively with a Cheshire-like grin spreading his face. He casually followed them out, hands still in pockets and jacket buttoned up. There was an odd leisurely gait about the man as he sauntered out. His long frame sheltered the doorway as he hung lazily against the door frame. "Arthur, if what you say it true," he held a long pause to emphasize his point. "The detectives will want photographic evidence of the rape."


	16. Reassurance

Those were the last damning words Arthur would hear from Alfred for months. There was no use resisting as the guard led him to the institution's hell, hidden away like an open secret at the lowest levels of the asylum, reserved for only the worst of patients. It was a cluster of isolated cells with no windows or any light source, and when the door was shut no sound from the outside was heard. It was just a box of a room with a pail for facilities and running water on tap. This would be Arthur's hope for the next few months, with Arthur's only visitors the invasive murder detectives harassing him about the rape and supposed crime of passion, and the guard who brought him meals on a tin tray.

Arthur had frowned when the need for evidence presented itself. Really, it wasn't the smartest thing. After all, where would a patient acquire a camera. It was evident that he had been raped, though, due to the condition of his bruised body. At least he could clear Alfred of any blame. That was what really mattered. Though, as the days trickled by, he was slowly losing his grip on reality. For a long while, the only thing that kept him going was the thought of seeing Dr. Jones again. Even that was eventually lost. One day, he began refusing to eat, as he had early in his stay. The worst part was being alone with himself. Just like the straitjacket. One day, not entirely sure of what compelled him to do it, Arthur stood from his small cot, which was a poor excuse for a bed, and stood with his front facing the wall. He had been eating away at himself with guilt. He just wanted to forget. Maybe that was why he did it. He smashed his head against the wall until he collapsed to the floor in an unconscious, bloody mess.

The familiar voice of a man collected at the edges of Arthur's consciousness, slowly drawing him back into the waking world for the first time after his self-induced concussion. "What am I going to do with you, Arthur?" the man's voice rang from somewhere above. A long, put-upon sigh followed.

Presently, Arthur was back on the couch in Alfred's office. Alfred sat across from him, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee while his chin tilted on the back of his hand, coolly regarding the waking boy. Arthur had been left for two days before the food server even noticed what he had done. It wasn't new to him that Arthur's collected food tray remained untouched since he started starving himself again. By the second day he noticed something was off, having a sixth sense for ill or dead patients after his experience working down in the hole. Dr. Jones was quick to respond and when he checked Arthur's vitals he noticed the boy was semi-responsive, so he ordered the boy be taken to his office instead of the med ward.

Arthur had drifted in and out of consciousness for the two days before he was found. Each time reality was in touch, it slowly faded away. He didn't fight it, though. The dull throb of his head told him that he'd be better off unaware. He shifted as he heard Alfred's voice, slowly waking. He groaned. His head was still throbbing. Knowing that he was injured already, he put his hand on his head and slowly tried to sit up. Then, he hissed in pain and fell back against the couch limply. He opened his eyes, and blinked, the pupil of his working eye wide from the first shred of light he'd seen in months. Aside from his head injury, he looked absolutely terrible. There were dark bags under his eyes, and he was the thinnest he'd ever been since coming to the hospital. His entire appearance was pale and sickly looking. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he managed a small smile up at Alfred. "I wanted to see you again," he murmured. "I was losing my mind down there."

Alfred let out a low, clustered laugh. "You precocious thing." Pushing off the chair he helped himself to the space by his hips where Arthur's body naturally bent while lying on his side. This allowed him easy access to his matted hair that tangled like a nest of hay, just above the wrapped bandage, where he petted only because he knew Arthur loved it. Worry knotted his stomach as he thought back on all the little tricks Arthur played in a disturbingly short amount of time. First the rape defense, now the concussion? Never mind the fact that Arthur was saving his own skin; Arthur's safety was in _Alfred's_ hands, now. "Did England show up when you stabbed Francis? Or was it you?" he asked. He had hoped England manifested himself. If Arthur was starting to take matters into his own hands, who knew what direction he would take next. But, England...

Just his name, _England_, irritated him. While his resentment towards the man dwindled, he didn't forget he had almost ruined his relationship with Arthur. Still, he desired the man underneath the boy's skin. England was challenging in a whole different way than Arthur. While Arthur needed to be swayed with subtlety and shadow play, England was manipulative and shameless using Arthur as his trump card when Alfred was getting the best out of him. It was a dynamic unlike any other and Alfred couldn't help but feel tickled by the thought of two men fighting over him in the same body. That's what he looked forward to, anyway.

Arthur smiled. The affection felt so nice after months of not even being allowed to see Alfred. He was obviously not as worried as the doctor was about the entire situation. He paused at the question, his face going serious. For a while, he said nothing. Finally, avoiding his gaze, he murmured, "...I remember the whole thing..." Even if it was for Dr. Jones' forgiveness, he still hated himself for it. He'd killed a man. He'd killed someone who was supposed to be his friend. ...and how would Feliciano react to that? Though, he hadn't thought of that up until now. He didn't care if Feli was afraid of him, or didn't want to speak to him because of that. The only person he needed was Alfred. He curled a little closer to the man, not thinking much about it as he did. He was lost in thought.

Alfred was wrapped up in his own thoughts. He played idly on Arthur's body, tickling the fringe of hair at the back of his neck, pressing his fingertip into the small plump of Arthur's lower lip. He realized he could wrap his pinky and thumb around Arthur's entire wrist. "You must be hungry," he commented. He had to make a note of that, later. If Arthur was good, maybe one day he would bring him some real food. "The detectives weren't mean to you, were they?" Alfred himself was interrogated several times. While vital parts of Arthur's story matched up, at least the rape correlation, Arthur's criminal history needed more convincing. They didn't let up on Dr. Jones easily, especially because he owned the murder weapon. He was sad to see his silver engraved envelope cutter go, remembering fondly on the knife games he played with it.

Arthur rested his eyes as the lightly sensitive parts of his body were played with. It felt nice and relaxing. He blinked, then looked up at Alfred and nodded. He was hungry. Unlike the other times he'd refused to eat, he'd had an appetite, he was just being stubborn. He yawned. "One of them punched me," he commented. He wasn't sure if it had left a mark or not. They didn't have mirrors in the Hole. He would have to assume that Dr. Jones was treated much more nicely than he himself was. Patients in asylums were often regarded as less than human... even if he was only seventeen. Actually, his birthday was coming up soon. Not that it had even crossed his mind with everything that had been happening. Actually, he had no idea what date it was. There was no sense of time in the Hole.

The news that the detectives hurt Arthur didn't sit well with him. He didn't like the idea of anyone touching Arthur, that much was obvious from what lengths he pushed Arthur to prove his love for him. "I'm hungry, too." He didn't mean food. Pity he couldn't have Arthur now. He was much too frail, and if the boy didn't pass out from anemia it would be another concussion. He needed a shower, anyway. "Your time was almost up, so I waived the rest of the time you'd need to spend. Really, after all, the stunt you've pulled it would be silly of be to ask you to behave now." Actually, it was becoming a larger concern than it already was. Alfred put it out of his mind for now.

"Do you want to see me tomorrow?" Of course he did. Before the boy undoubtedly agreed, he went on. "Then I want you to eat, and bathe, and be a good boy. I'll have something good for you tomorrow." Very gently, in tune with the boy's heartbeat, he was patted Arthur's chest above his heart; a friendly, almost chummy gesture.

Arthur yawned again. He was tired, even though he had been unconscious for the past two days. Because of his lack of exercise, and his refusal to eat, he had no energy. He smiled, a little apologetically. "Thank you," he said. He was glad he didn't have to go back to the Hole. Though, he probably wasn't on the best terms with the staff at the moment. His smile brightened when he was told he could see the other tomorrow. "Yes, sir," he murmured quickly. The touch to his chest felt nice, and he slowly sat up, albeit with slight difficulties. He cautiously hugged the other, not being able to contain his feeling of gratefulness towards being able to see him. "I missed you," he said softly. "I'm sorry I messed up."

As far as Arthur was concerned, the entire ordeal was his fault. Even though Alfred had pressured him into killing Francis, the situation could've been avoided if he would've kept his body to himself and Dr. Jones.

Alfred graciously hugged back, adding a few pats before releasing him. As they parted he gently held him at arm's length making sure the boy met his eyes. "Just remember I'm here for you." Smile widening, he fondly rubbed his thumb over Arthur's sweet cheek, entirely out of place with his following words. "No one else is." Patting his cheek affectionately, he let the boy go, helpless but to run his fingers up the gaunt knobs of his pronounced spine as the boy left his office. Alfred promised to send for him the following evening and asked him not to eat dinner tomorrow night, just this one time.


	17. Lust

Arthur was already looking more healthy and vibrant as he stepped into Alfred's office. He was, of course, chained, though. Which was to be expected after he murdered another patient... But overall, he was looking happier. The bandage around his head was fresh, and there was a little more life to his eyes than there had been yesterday. He hadn't eaten dinner, as the doctor had instructed, but found it easy considering his stomach had shrunk in the past few months. When a patient was in the Hole, they got food that wasn't as quality, and less of it. Actually, when he had eaten after he'd left Alfred's office yesterday, he'd gotten sick from eating too much at once. He briefly wondered why Dr. Jones hadn't wanted him to eat dinner. Dismissing it, he realized how much he trusted Alfred. He closed the door behind him, hoping the other would take the chains off of his wrists.

Alfred called for Arthur as soon as he returned from his evening break just after tea time. He had plans to brighten Arthur's mood, but it didn't look like he need it. It was worth it all the same if Arthur acted this agreeable. "Look at you" Alfred teased with his Cheshire grin hinting of an incisor. Arthur certainly did look healthy and vibrant, _anything_ would be a step up from the condition he was in yesterday. Alfred knew the reason why, and was pleased as pie Arthur was doing so well because of him. It made things much, much easier. "Let me get that for you." Helping himself to Arthur's cuffs they were off in no time. There was a big brown paper bag sitting on the middle of Alfred's desk (cleared for once) that he returned to, rummaging through the contents with whatever was inside that set off that delicious aroma. Alfred pulled out a newspaper-wrapped fillet of fried fish, dropping the bundle at the top of the desk where the chair was set up, presumably where Arthur was to sit. Alfred had an order of fried bangers himself, rolled out the chips between them to share and, of course, the malt vinegar, which Alfred helped himself to as Arthur was no doubt reeling in shock. Jones happily sat down and beamed at Arthur, inviting. "Help yourself."

Arthur's smile had widened slightly at Alfred's teasing. Aside from being in a better mood, he was also feeling better. Though, he was just getting used to only having sight in one eye, and it had been months since the accident. He noticed the smell almost immediately, and the aroma of somewhat quality food made his mouth water. Anything was better than the bland gray food they got served at the asylum every day. At first, he hesitated. Then, once he realized that it was okay for him to sit down and eat, he quickly sat down and began eating rather quickly. He couldn't help it. It was the first meal with any taste that he'd had since he'd been admitted. Not that he questioned any of it.

Halfway through the meal (which he ate quickly, avoiding conversation), Arthur had to stop and remind himself to eat slowly. He already felt as though he might be sick. He leaned back in the chair, taking a break to let some of the food settle in his stomach before attempting to eat anymore. He looked sincerely at Alfred. "Thank you."

"I got it from across the city at the Golden Hind. Been there?" He enjoyed a private smile as he watched Arthur stuff himself. He though it was understandable because Arthur seemed to be really enjoying real food for the first time in over a year. For reasons more than thirst, Alfred pulled out the alcohol he always stocked in this office, pouring two tumblers full of clear rum and handing one to Arthur. "A pint of bitter would do better with tea, but beggars can't be choosers."

They continued eating, interrupted only by a little small talk here and there. "I ate bangers and chips in med school twice a week after a lecture taught by a professor I hated. But now I have to be care about eating rich food. I'm getting old." A good-natured smile softened the gripe, but it was obvious that even through his tailored suit Dr. Jones' body was as good-looking as his face. Suits were conservative and left much to the imagination, but subtle signs gave away his trim figure, such as when his sleeves pulled taut against the outline of a toned bicep as he reached for something how his shirt didn't bulge out in the least when he sat down.

Arthur was still smiling. Though, he was a bit embarrassed about indulging in the food. His smile dulled slightly. The casual conversation reminded him that he wouldn't be getting out of the hospital. Ever. It didn't matter if he'd ever been to the places that the doctor asked him about. He'd never be going back. Even with that thought, he kept his smile and shook his head. "No. We ate at home most nights." His smile brightened when Alfred mentioned his age. He laughed. The other couldn't have been more than ten years older than him. He was surprised by the alcohol, knowing that Dr. Jones could get in severe trouble if anyone caught him drinking on the job, or giving rum to him. He didn't complain, though. He'd never been drunk, but it crossed his mind that a nice buzz might take away the stress of the asylum. He took a sip of the drink, and made a face at the taste, but took a bigger sip, then set it down before hesitantly continuing eating. He took it slower this time, as to not make himself sick.

The dull eye and forced tightness of Arthur's smile didn't escape him. He knew Arthur was grieving over his permanent confinement. Too bad it wasn't really _his_ fault, but England's. Not for the first time, Alfred wondered if the justice system would exonerate Arthur having proven with regressive therapy that Arthur was innocent on reasons for insanity. The public has been more forgiving towards the infirm these days with the emergence of behavioral science. Of course, he withheld this from Arthur even if it would encourage the boy to purge England and rehabilitate.

Besides, talking shop during tea was bad taste.

During the course of the evening, Arthur slowly finished his meal, as well as the rum. By the end of it, his mind was feeling a little fuzzy. He was smiling dully, and his eye was glazed over in drink. He didn't remember why he'd felt stressed earlier during tea. It was just nice to be here, and relaxed. He didn't need to think, because all that mattered was right here and right now. "Was this for some sort of special occasion?" he questioned softly, a slur creeping into his speech.

"Just a small birthday occasion since we can't throw you a real one." Throughout the meal he had been topping off Arthur's glass so that it was always full until they had finished the bottle between them. Alfred was pleasantly buzzed, but Arthur looked worse for wear. After tossing the splotched greasy newspapers into the paper bag they came in, Alfred stretched, sated from hunger and drink. "Still, this counts for a interview session, so we can continue where we left off on the couch." Hugging one arm around the boy's shoulders he helped him across the room to the couch making sure the boy didn't sway and fall down. Spinning the chair Arthur was just on to face him on the couch and sitting down, Alfred cast him a sly grin. Priming Arthur by getting him plastered wasn't the hardest thing to do and more than worth the entertainment to come. "How are you feeling, Arthur?"

"Oh..." Arthur murmured. "I had forgotten about that." He didn't seem upset about it. It was actually rather nice that they were doing something. He nodded, thankful for the help over to the couch. He only then realized how drunk he really was. He wasn't quite sure if he could've made it to the couch on his own. Not that he minded. He wasn't hurt, and he actually felt rather nice at the moment. He was definitely more relaxed than usual. He was slumped against the back of the couch with a stupid grin on his face. It was a little hard to tell the difference between his real eye and the glass one at this point. "I'm feeling nice." He was slurring heavily at this point, though, so he was slightly hard to understand.

"You sound nice." he chuckled lowly situating himself comfortably in his seat. He ditched the clipboard and notes. Leaning over with his elbows on his knees and flicking the tip of his tongue over his lips, he ventured to improvise and control the dialogue until it naturally flowed in the direction of his intent. "What do you do when you feel nice? When you've come home from school after your peers have ostracized you and your instructors look at you strangely, and your father beat you after something you did and you're in bed. What do you do to feel nice?"

Arthur laughed a little when Alfred laughed. He was strangely comfortable with the current situation. Even more so than usual. Even in his intoxicated state, he knew it was because of the alcohol. He struggled slightly to understand what the doctor was saying, but after a moment, he laughed again. "I touch myself," he said, lacking the embarrassment that he usually felt. "Never drank before, though."

"That's a good way to feel nice," he nodded, affirming and validating Arthur's reason for doing, strangely clinical. "And what do you think about when you touch yourself? Be specific." Alfred's grin went askew. "As much as you can be." Alcohol was thankfully doing its job lowering Arthur's mental filter utilized to monitor his behavior in front of others. He was confident he could coerce Arthur into divulging his fantasies anyway, but Arthur would never be so open and sharing about them without lowering his inhibitions first.

Arthur closed his eyes. His smile never faltered. "Being dominated," he started, simply. "Maybe tied up. Blindfolded or gagged. That's what I think about most of the time. Sometimes I think it might be nice to have it a little rough. Sometimes I think about it being gentle, though. That seems like it would be nice, too. I think about a lot of stuff. I'd like to try being on top, too. I don't know a lot about sex, though," he admitted. Those were the only things he actually knew about.

Alfred wondered if Arthur's rough fantasies were because he was a rape victim coping from the trauma, or possibly because it relieved him the guilt from consenting to homosexual deviancy, or another variant. That was some pretty kinky stuff for someone who claimed he never had sex, and he doubted it was the influence from porn rags or other conventional exposure. From what he gathered from his authoritarian upbringing, they never seemed to let him out of the house. "When you fantasize about being tied up and gagged, who is dominating you?" Despite the invasive questions Alfred remained outwardly neutral and nonjudgmental, communicating to Arthur trust, though he was the worst person who should be given it to.

"My old boyfriend," Arthur murmured. He yawned. "Not anymore, though." He paused, still smiling. "Not after I met you." Without thinking much, he shifted so the he was lying on his side on the couch, staring up at Alfred drunkenly. He didn't feel bad about these things as he usually did. The rum had loosened him up considerably. But with or without alcohol, he trusted Dr. Jones foolishly. "But my old boyfriend used to show me dirty magazines. That's the only reason I know about any of that. We didn't do much, though. Only talked about things a lot. We were afraid to do things. Well, mostly me. Nobody besides the priest and him knew I was gay."

The way Arthur lied across the couch for him, loose-boned from drink, gave him a luxurious and seductive appeal that Alfred couldn't help but suspect Arthur was secretly a tease. It was hard to tell; he was still leery about how he liked the boy's changed behavior that Alfred was sure to always keep a wary eye out for it. Before the new addition of Arthur's old boyfriend could be absorbed his attention immediately refocused when Arthur followed up blatantly admitting he fantasized about the doctor. He knew this already, but it was a new victory to hear it out loud... even if he was so drunk he looked ready to pass out. _That_ wasn't going to happen. "That's interesting about your old boyfriend. I don't believe you have mentioned him, but I'm also curious what you meant by me. How do you fantasize about me?"

Arthur closed his eyes again. He was conflicted. He wanted to just let go and sleep, but he also wanted to stay up to spend more time with the doctor. He nodded, the stupid grin still plastered on his face. "I once saw this magazine where this man was handcuffed, gagged, and bent over a chair as he was being shagged. The chair didn't have any arm rests so he could fit on it nicely. The last time I did it, I imagined you doing that to me. Oh, and there was another where the same man was collared and leashed like an animal. I think that would be nice, too." It was strange how casual this sounded. He didn't seem embarrassed about admitting any of this. Then again, his mind was blurry with the rum traveling through his system at full force.

"I'm flattered, but have you ever thought about what these people would think if they ever knew you sodomized them in your mind? I'm sure your boyfriend didn't care because he was a deviant, too, but what about me and other men?" Alfred was still oddly clinical, which probably made the slight deprecation worse than if he scolded him normally. Intending to incite more guilt into Arthur he persisted. "Since we're here, why don't you _ask_ me?"

Arthur's smile fell. In any normal occasion, of course he thought about that. Which contributed to why he'd be so embarrassed to talk about this if he weren't drunk, and why he hated himself so much. He was disgusted with his own fantasies. His eyes opened again, and he asked worriedly, "...how do you feel about it...?" He already felt bad enough. He knew he didn't deserve everything Alfred was treating him with. Even the affection. This would only pile onto the things he'd feel guilty for. Not that it was a bad thing for the doctor. No... Just for the Englishman, really.

"How do I feel... it really depends." He pretended to mull this over while at the corner of his eye watched the guilt take over Arthur making him draw back into himself. He didn't want to bully the boy too much if he was prone to tears when drunk. He acted more forgiving, like a clinician or an adviser would when someone confessed to an unacceptable and condemning behavior. His job was to heal, not to judge. Alfred's smile was benign. "Why don't you show me and I'll decide for myself?"

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((Arthur begins masturbating in front of Alfred while telling him what he is fantasizing. Alfred sits next to him then finishes him, then tells Arthur to suck him.))


	18. Drink

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((Summary: Arthur and Alfred have sex. As known in the last chapter, Arthur is drunk, so whether it's consensual or not depends on your opinion.))

From above Alfred sighed, fists akimbo against his hips as he surveyed Arthur lying half-asleep below him and looking like he wasn't about to get up any time soon. Pulling his upper arm once and chiding him to stand on his own, Alfred led him the few steps to the couch to sleep there, tossing his jacket over the naked boy before he cleaned up. Doubling checking just in case, he switched off the audio recording when he was sure Arthur wasn't looking before taking his seat at the desk and finishing his paper work on Arthur.

Tonight was nice. It was wonderful to see Arthur again, and the boy was deliciously, drunkenly, receptive. He didn't know if it aroused or sickened him, but he had missed that body, so rawboned and willowy he was barely there. He really felt like they were finally in their honeymoon stage, after months of courting him as he betrayed his innocent mind and fragile heart until he finally fell for the doctor.

Alfred spent long nights like this, annotating on both Arthur and England, relaying every minuscule detail and transcribing their audio recorded sessions, adding unnecessary things and divulging anecdotes about himself sometimes. Arthur's farce of a report was several times larger than the others, tucked away in a locked file cabinet with only formalities to save him. He knew better than to blatantly incriminate himself on paper, but he simply could not part with his notes. They were a testament to how far he'd come, when he was once pitiful and useless, but now in control of his life by controlling others and never letting anyone victimize him again.

And, perhaps, a small part of it was guilt.

Arthur blinked as he was hauled up, really hating that he was being moved. That thought disappeared when he laid on the couch. It was definitely more comfortable than the floor. He smiled and curled up in Alfred's jacket. It smelled like him. He managed to fall asleep rather quickly, not really thinking too much about what the doctor was doing.

Really, he should have been a little curious as to why he was still here, in the man's office. Was he sleeping here for the night? ...was Dr. Jones even going home? There were many questions that he probably should have been asking himself, but he was lost in the peacefulness of the situation. This is why he loved Alfred. The moments like this one, right before he drifted to sleep, he forgot all about his situation. That he was never leaving this place, and that he'd killed his family. That he'd probably go through worse than he'd already been through, and that his face was mutilated. ...and even that he'd lost his eye. In these moments, all of these things were forgotten, and he could finally get some peace of mind. He could finally relax, and Alfred was the one who provided that for him.

He worked late into the night, undisturbed, having cleared all appointments anticipating the entire night for just the two of them. It wasn't just Arthur's or his other patients' files he worked on; there were fallback plans he progressively put off until his confrontation with Ludwig after his and Arthur's first time. False passports and correspondences overseas if, or when, Dr. Alfred F. Jones had to disappear. These were secreted away in a safe behind a false compartment behind the wardrobe closet he kept his packed travel bag in. Years earlier, never would he think he could be so careless. A safe, daily routine made him sloppy, as well as illusions of invulnerability. That, and he wasn't getting any better like he thought he would. Once he thought he could find peace in psychiatry, but the thrill of victory over every broken patient was fleeting, and he quickly became bored, thoroughly discontent and disappointed. But Arthur was different. Though his infamy intrigued him in the beginning, but inside Arthur was a victim that made Alfred want to debase and protect at the same time. Such a strange, dichotomous feeling.

Standing after several long hours hunched over in his seat felt good. Alfred's spine popped satisfactorily when he stretched his arms to the ceiling, and he was still rubbing kinks out of his neck as he approached the boy on the couch. While he worked, the whole time Arthur slept like the dead. Alfred figured his couch was more comfortable than that "mattress" he slept on, and as strange as it was, at times like these Alfred was probably the safest person to sleep in the presence of. Curled up in the fetal, Arthur's toes still poked out from the bottom of Alfred's jacket. He left plenty of room for Alfred to sit and pat his hair, simply ruminating as he watched on. Finally he nudged Arthur's shoulder awake. "Wake up. I need to send you back before I lock up for the day." As Arthur came awake and sat up he scooped up Arthur's sparse clothing and handed it to him.

Arthur woke slowly. As with most nights, he didn't dream. He only woke from darkness. Even that was nice, sometimes, though. It was an escape from the reality of his life. His head was still feeling fuzzy as he struggled to sit up, currently aware enough to be slightly embarrassed that he wasn't wearing clothing. He took his clothes and carefully pulled them on, careful not to fall over. Even though he was slightly more aware than earlier, he was still dizzy and disoriented. Once his clothing was on, he grasped the arm of the couch for support as he stood. Briefly, he wondered if Dr. Jones would help him to his room. It was obvious he couldn't make it there on his own, but maybe the doctor would have a guard or nurse assist him. He smiled brightly at Alfred. "Thanks for giving me a good birthday," he slurred out, stumbling the few feet to the other to embrace him in a hug.

Alfred easily scooped him underneath the arms, catching him before he could fall. He chuckled, righting him up. "Let's get you back to your room, hm?" He placed a firm hold around the boy's shoulders before leading the way out.

Arthur was very sweet today, but he was surprised England didn't join the party. The entire time he kept an eye out for the man and couldn't help but feel a little disappointed his payback to England was long overdue. The idea that England could possibly be frightened of him would have pleased Alfred if it didn't mean he scared him off. He was far from finished with Arthur's second persona.

On their way back, passing nurses with inquiring eyes noticed the imbibed boy stumbling against Alfred who supported him. Alfred played it off, easily fibbing something about anemia and not eating. The explanation satisfied them and they only nodded sympathetically, continuing on their way none the wiser. Alfred leaned into to whisper in his ear. "You're going to have one hell of a hangover," he cheerfully leered before straightening to unlock his room. The mattress didn't even squeak as made sure Arthur didn't fall awkwardly on his bed. He daubed a small goodnight kiss on the forehead like a father would. "Say hello to England for me," he sang gently as he left.

((Sorry this took so long^^ Reviews are appreciated.))


	19. Information

Shortly over a week later, Arthur woke early and was escorted to the common room by Gilbert. The day after his birthday was horrid. His head had been pounding all day, and he was incredibly sore. It was his first hangover, and he told himself it would be his last. Which might or might not last very long, depending on Alfred had any more alcohol. No one had bothered him nearly all day, though. He couldn't help but wonder if Alfred had anything to do with that.

The past week had been slightly upsetting. He'd been in Dr. Jones' office nearly every day. That was a good thing, of course, but it seemed like they were making little progress. Which was the bad part. The doctor had been trying to get in contact with his other persona every time he'd been in the office, for whatever reason. England hadn't shown himself lately, as apparent by Arthur's intact memory. They'd gone through hypnotherapy countless times, and it seemed to be getting a little old. Even so, Alfred was getting increasingly upset with him. He felt guilty, even if he couldn't control England. He wished that he could help the other in some way.

It was a nice surprise that he wasn't in any restraints today. After killing Francis the staff had kept a watchful eye over him. He shuddered at the thought. He didn't regret killing the man, considering it made Alfred forgive him, but he did feel remorse and loss. He felt guilty. ...which he was. The Frenchman had screamed for him to stop as tears had run down his face, but in Arthur's eyes had been a look of determination. He remembered murmuring an apology before he left, covered in blood.

His head injury was nearly healed now.

For the first time since Francis' death Arthur was reunited with Feliciano. Or rather, Feliciano was reunited with _him_. Upon the sight of the blonde, he had tackled the Briton to the ground in a fierce hug, babbling in loud Italian his happiness of seeing Arthur again before his doctor literally hefted Feliciano off. Apparently, the boy was unaware of Francis's death, because not a trace of fear or sadness shadowed his blissfully ignorant face. He talked to Arthur about how good it was to see him again, if God had saved him from masturbating, and if he would play with him later?

Presently, Feliciano was playing on the floor in the middle of the room with his dolls, Ludwig seated on the couch next to Arthur, taking notes on Feliciano's play behavior. Feliciano was supposed to be in session with Ludwig, but the boy was so adamant about going to play that Ludwig saw no choice but to let him, seeing as that the boy would be impossible to interview bouncing off the walls with too much energy. When he saw Arthur already in the room he was very upset to reunite them, not trusting the boy in the slightest. Since Francis' death he made sure to segregate their general activities so they never bumped into each other. When Feliciano asked Arthur to join him the doctor gave Arthur a look that could kill, easily communicating to the boy that he was _not_ to be anywhere near his patient.

Ludwig had entirely blamed himself after the disaster with Arthur in his office when he tried to coax answers out of the boy about Alfred's immoral behavior. He should have known better than to lose his temper. His most opportune chance to incriminate the doctor utterly failed. Although he thought Arthur was incredibly selfish to withhold information, he could not blame the boy for his weak constitution compounded with Alfred's manipulation. He _knew_ Dr. Jones was behind Francis' murder because he was the last person Arthur interacted with, as well as the first person he was found with after the murder. He even killed with Alfred's own letter opener! When the detectives brushed him off, refusing to believe a word from the German immigrant, he went to the board about Alfred breaking protocol letting Arthur out of isolated confinement. They, too, were unyielding, refusing to damage the reputation of the Jones' family name on account of a German immigrant who had sought asylum from the Great War.

Every now and then he'd shoot a deprecating look at his brother who openly laughed at Ludwig every time Feli brought something to show the man, and Ludwig humored him like a parent would a child. "Bruder..." he growled after Gilbert bellowed out an especially loud laugh when Feli tried to sprinkle glitter on his head claiming he was a fairy. Why did he even let Gilbert come with him to England? Not for the first time Ludwig coughed into his fist from the awkwardness. "I owe you an apology, Mr. Kirkland. It was unacceptable for me to lose my temper in front of a patient; a doctor should conduct himself better than that. I just want you to know, Arthur, that you can come to me if you don't feel safe. I give you my word that I will protect you." Even he meant nothing beyond doctor-patient confidentiality, he was never good at extending those doctor's "gentle hands."

Arthur had yelled out in surprise as he was tackled to the floor. He couldn't help but laugh. As with before, he had missed the Italian without really realizing it. He was glad to see that ignorant, happy face. He quickly sat next to the other, content with watching him play and listening to him talk. It was as if the man really was a child… Which was a nice break from the reality of his situation. Maybe he could pretend he was just babysitting for his neighbors while he was here.

He glanced up at the German doctor in time to see the glare. "I'm sorry Feliciano…" he murmured, standing up and turning away. "…maybe some other time." He wasn't on the greatest terms with Ludwig, and the man seemed to lose his temper easily. Though he wasn't exactly frightened of the other, he didn't feel like dealing with an angry doctor. He went a short distance away and sat on one of the couches, glancing around awkwardly. Other than Feliciano and Francis, he'd never really socialized with anyone in the asylum. The thought of the Frenchman made him cringe slightly with guilt.

The Englishman laughed softly to himself as Feliciano pestered Ludwig. At least if the man had let them socialize, he wouldn't have to deal with Feli himself for a little while. His eyes went blank as the German walked over and apologized. He smiled falsely.

"Hm… Yes. Perhaps if I had come to you or Dr. Jones about my issues with Mr. Bonnefoy, then things would've gotten resolved less violently," he said, knowing that wasn't what the other had been speaking about.

"Of course," Ludwig groused, expecting no less. As the blond doctor looked up he unwittingly caught sight of the newcomer in the room, his antagonist and colleague Dr. Jones, who had apparently just said something humbling to his brother because the albino suddenly looked simultaneously affronted and defensive at the doctor. It wasn't lost on Ludwig Alfred's recent increasingly unstable behavior, the doctor was becoming more paranoid by the day perhaps suspecting, as did Ludwig, that things weren't turning out so well for the handsome doctor as he'd liked. The other day Ludwig had witnessed the man screaming at the poor nurse delivering his mail, insisting that she failed to bring all of it. It was extremely uncharacteristic of the man who was, to Ludwig, infuriatingly charming and so obviously the type of person who breezed through life and into people's good graces, whereas Ludwig had to struggle on merit alone, fighting doggedly against the odds just to roll over under the command of a man a decade younger with a fraction of his experience.

Alfred hadn't noticed Ludwig, for the man's unbidden attention was all on Arthur. It looked like all time stopped for him by the way he looked at Arthur with both adulation and obsession. As if magnetized he made his way to the boy, heedless to the world around him- almost. He stopped short, finally noticing Ludwig's presence and none-too-thrilled about it. The unabashed feelings he showed for Arthur immediately fell away as he regarded the man blandly, then at Arthur, then Ludwig again. Ludwig could guess what he was thinking; he was anxious about what just happened between Arthur and Ludwig.

Alfred's mood changed and he stalked right up to Arthur before the boy could notice until he was suddenly right in front of him, towering and radiating anger. The doctor fixed him in his gaze, blue eyes sharp and clear. "I must summon you myself to your own appointment?" Casting his ire once more at the German who glared levelly back at him, intimidating even while seated, Jones matched him eye-to-eye for an eternity of seconds before cutting contact with a roll of his eyes, turning back to Arthur. "You're already late, so let's go." Dragging Arthur off the couch by the arm Dr. Jones forcefully escorted him out the room.

They weren't going to his office. He was through with being kind. Foolishly, for Arthur's sake, perhaps as an apology, he had wasted all week trying - and failing- to draw England out with hypnotherapy. It was utterly humiliating for Alfred, who almost never failed and never took it lightly when he did. With every failed attempt he became increasingly aggravated to the point where he was losing his patience. Compounded by the tip off from a friend that Ludwig went to the board on him again, Alfred was quickly losing any reserve to act normal and it showed.

On their way to hydrotherapy he squeezed Arthur's arm painfully enough to bruise. "What did he tell you?" he hissed, jostling him by the arm as if he needed extra incentive to speak the truth. He felt betrayed by Arthur just _speaking_ to Ludwig.

Arthur had tensed and looked at the ground as he caught sight of Alfred shortly after Ludwig had. The doctor looked angry, which was never a good sign for him. He flinched as the other spoke, not realizing that the man had been right in front of him. He hadn't been informed that he had an appointment with Dr. Jones today.

He stayed silent as Ludwig held his gaze with Alfred, keeping his head down, and having seemingly shrunk slightly, almost the same behavior he'd had around his father. He was no longer the confident man that he had been before Alfred had entered the room. He was only more frightened and stressed as they went a different direction than they would have going to the man's office. That meant they were probably going somewhere far less pleasant.

As his arm was squeezed, he flinched and squirmed slightly. "H-He only t-told me that he was s-sorry f-for losing his temper the other day, and th-that I could come to him if I d-don't feel safe for some reason. Then I s-said that it m-might've helped to know that when I had my issues with F-Francis... Th-That was it. I s-swear," he stuttered out, afraid with how angry the other was.

Alfred made a disbelieving sound but kept up the pace forcing Arthur to match his long strides as they neared the hydriatic room. It was a surprisingly large room, with comfortable space for a shower, steam room, and immersion tub. The tub spanned the length of a grown man and was filled to the brim with cold water. In the late 1800's it was believed that human impurities could be sweated out of the body, so patients were wrapped in hot towels to sweat and then immersed in a tub of cold water, followed by a strict regime of exercise and more cold showers for the rest of the day. Recently water-cure had fallen into disfavor, now the hydriatic room was reused for punitive treatment for unruly patients with conduct disorders.

Alfred left Arthur to himself as he undressed down to his shirt and slacks, even his tie was removed. He spoke nonchalantly as he meticulously folded his shirtsleeves up to the elbow. "It should be obvious why I am doing this." The statement was spoken so definitively it was almost as if there really was no other resort. Alfred slowly approached the boy, effectively cornered him with his spine pressed against the tub, leaning over him so that he bowed backward, very deliberately holding eye contact. "This hasn't to do with you. You're a very good boy. It's England who is making me do this."

Arthur's adrenaline was rushing once they reached their destination. This room was horribly familiar to him. He had spent a lot of time here when he'd first come to the asylum. His breathing became unsteady, nervous pants as his anxiety grew. When Alfred started to dress down, his eyes flicked around for a possible means of escape for a moment before something clicked and he remembered that would be useless. It would only be worse if he fought. …and this was Alfred… Alfred knew what was best for him. He trusted Alfred. His gaze fell to the floor, and he stood shaking as he waited for the man to finish. He said nothing to Dr. Jones' statement.

He still thought it was useless to fight, but he couldn't help but back up against the tub. His eyes shone in fear as he stared into the doctor's eyes, but also…. Trust. He trusted Alfred to take care of him. He felt tears pricking the corner of his eyes, and he averted his gaze downward. "Th-Thank you…" he murmured first. Then, "I'm s-sorry he's such a problem…"

Despite his praise, there was no kindness in his voice. "I want England, Arthur." His eyes shone feverishly as he violently spun the boy around and bent him over the tub, much like how he did on the couch on his birthday, submerging his head under water with a cruel tangled vice grip in his hair. Alfred braced himself against Arthur so the boy wouldn't thrash too much, certainly not enough to wriggle free. He held Arthur underwater for several seconds, dispassionately watching the bubbles escape from Arthur's desperate screams, muted and gurgling underwater. Finally he pulled Arthur up to let him breathe- two breaths, not nearly enough to satisfy his burning lungs- before dunking him again.

Arthur nearly yelped as he was spun around. As his head was submerged, he attempted to hold his breath for as long as possible before screaming and squirming, trying to get away to the best of his ability. His lungs burned, and the grip on his hair made his scalp sore. He'd taken some water into his lungs, and coughed for a moment as he was let up before taking a couple breaths. His eyes were open under the water. His nose, throat, and chest burned heavily. It took a considerably shorter amount of time for him to scream out and attempt to get away this time. His head was already feeling light. He took in more water through his nose.

Arthur's weak constitution made it unnecessary to twist his arm against his back, a single hand in his hair enough to hold him still through the punishment. And a punishment it was. If England was brave enough to face him again, Arthur wouldn't be suffering. It was Alfred's last ditch effort to threaten Arthur's life to the brink of death for England's purpose to protect Arthur would win out over the man's resistance to meeting the doctor. Every now and then Alfred gave Arthur a breather, just enough time to repeat his words to Arthur, and England inside, before driving almost half his body underwater again. Alfred's clothes were already soaked, the whole front of his shirt drenched, but he was too worked up on adrenaline to shiver from the cold.

Arthur wasn't entirely sure how long this continued before his thoughts started fading, and the chilled water made him feel numb. At some point, though, his struggles died down, until he was nearly limp in the water. He hadn't passed out, though. His brain seemed to be trying to figure out how to function again... What would save him. His eyes were half closed, and his mouth slightly parted as he was pulled up again. His breathing was deep and struggled, but slow. Every time he took in air, there was the rattling noise of the water in his chest. His remaining eye was blank. He blinked, and an expression finally hinted onto his face. It was a softer version of the hateful look England usually had.

Alfred heaved him up for the last time, always gauging Arthur's face before throwing him back in again, and this time Alfred _knew_. Even half passed out, Alfred knew that hateful face his Arthur would never wear, incapable of, and only England could account for. And it was +a damn satisfying sight after this whole time. Switching his hold to around the boy's stomach and chest he pulled the boy away, propping him on his hands and knees to cough up the water. Alfred's eyeglasses were specked with droplets and dripping at the ends of his hair with his clothes in a matched state of waterlog but he appeared mostly composed, if not a little out of breath. He'd won.

England was incredibly limp against Alfred as he was shifted onto his hands and knees. It took him a moment before he started coughing violently, holding a shaking hand over his chest. His lungs, throat, and nose were sore. He even had a headache throbbing behind his eyes, which he'd closed. The water all slowly got coughed out, and he groaned softly and rolled over onto his side to rub his aching chest. He opened his eyes slightly to glare at Alfred as much as he could in this state. Not long after, he started shivering, the adrenaline gone. He was soaked, in chilled water, the room was cold, and he was curled up on the floor.

Alfred looked comfortable sitting crossed-legged in front of England, albeit displaced as he was still in a suit, drenched or not. "Welcome back," he teased, infuriatingly sincere. He wore a flaunting, shit-eating grin that nonetheless showed his pleasant turn of mood. In England's weakness he could do nothing against Alfred pulling off his shirt and trousers, leaving him in his underpants. He threw a towel on top of the prostrate boy, rubbing one in his own hair, though he kept his clothes on. Alfred apparently had no incentive to move from the wet floor, and there no chairs besides, only England and him with nothing else between them.

"Fuck off," England mumbled in response to the teasing. He felt drained. Honestly, he didn't care much that he was nearly naked, considering he was comfortable with his own body, and worried too much about the soreness he was experiencing to worry about Alfred trying anything. He tugged the towel closer around his frame. "What do you want." It was more of a statement than a question. He felt like he'd lost, and the feeling wasn't made any better by the doctor's gloating attitude.

"Don't be like that. Do I need a reason to see you?" Although there was a reason it didn't seem so important anymore. England's cold reception didn't dissuade him in the slightest, only challenging him to try harder. England looked quite adorable all wet and shivering, still so bony through the thin towel. England's green glare was met with smiling blue eyes. "I wanted to ask you about Arthur, actually."

England's glare sharpened. "I suppose you don't need a reason, but you're going to quite dramatic measures to see me," he spat. He closed his eyes to hold his head in his hands. "What do you want to know that you couldn't ask _him_?" he questioned. The fact that Alfred was so cheery was only pissing the Englishman off further. Again, he felt as though he had lost.

Alfred answered easily with a hand holding up his cheek, unperturbed by what he considered a hissy fit. Really, England was such a sore loser. "Besides the blackouts, there's nothing I can ask that he won't answer. He's gone through so much lately that I don't want to upset him by bringing up unpleasant memories." The answer was sincere but in Alfred's mind it was worth it to literally _force_ England out by almost killing him. He would never kill him, though. Couldn't. He was too in love with Arthur to _really_ hurt him, so he thought. "Tell me about Arthur's boyfriend. I'm curious."

England sat for a moment, as if thinking about something. "Curiosity killed the cat, Jones... But I might be able to recall some boy that Arthur may or may not have been dating if you share something with me... Who hurt you?" For a second, he thought of holding a smile as he asked this, but he also wanted to seem sincere. It didn't matter to him whether Alfred knew about that or not, but if the man insisted on knowing, then he wanted something in return. He didn't give up things like that for free. Especially when the doctor seemed desperate enough to almost kill Arthur to find out what he wanted.

The effect of England's question was compelling. Alfred's positive mood slid right off his face, his eyes dulled and glaring the same time, almost sneering at the boy, before his lips quirked up and he was chipper again. "Hmm, well, that's a general question." He left it unsaid that it was unreasonable to answer a leading question, already insinuating a truth that wasn't even affirmed. For what reason at what time? Alfred shrugged, trembling from the cold. "Anyway, you're the patient and I'm the doctor; it doesn't work like that." He was firmer this time, less patient for games. "Arthur's old boyfriend. Tell me."

England's lip curved up at one side as he caught Alfred's expression. He smirked as the other finished speaking. "Well, you are correct. I'm the patient, and you're the doctor. I think that it's interesting that our relationship isn't quite... Normal of a patient-doctor relationship. Do you think anyone _else_ might find that interesting?" he asked, hinting at what he meant. He could expose Alfred for many things. All he had to do was go to someone and confess. So far, the doctor had raped him, hit him, pressured him into killing another man, manipulated him, isolated him, and given him alcohol. His working eye was observing carefully. It also interested him how the other wet and shivering, but didn't take his wet clothing off and grab a towel. It only confirmed his first assumption that he'd been hurt before, and was uncomfortable with his body because of something that had happened to him. Either that, or he just wanted to remain "in control" of the situation. But due to the avoidance of the question, he assumed it was the first guess.

Alfred's shoulders hitched in breathless laughter. "You think you can convince anyone?" He was incredulous and did nothing to hide it. Alfred leaned in very close, and though his voice was much softer the intimacy made the words harsher. "You're not even half of a man inside a sad, deformed little boy who mercilessly killed his parents in a house fire. You're half of a personality disorder not even half of the psychology community believes in. Although it's true Arthur's story was a sensation; the novelty of a young, unassuming first son of old money killing his parents in cold blood, to anyone important you're a criminally insane liar. Besides," he sighed in mock sympathy, "Arthur wouldn't let you."

England just continued smirking. "There are several people already suspecting you of something. Nurses, and other doctors..." he trailed off, then laughed. "_Arthur_ wouldn't _let_ me? Since when has he _ever_ been in control? He may be the root personality, but I'm in charge of the show. I was here for weeks without anyone seeing a difference. ...and besides... I thought we were talking about you," he started. "I have a feeling that you two aren't that different. Is that why you hurt him? Why you raped him? Why you _abuse_ him, emotionally and physically? You're just like the people who hurt you. Disgusting. You're just taking on the role of his new abuser, one that he was happy to have you fill. You see, that's the only way any of his male role models have ever shown him affection. So don't think you're fucking special, either. What happened to you? Did someone touch you badly when you were little? Mark up that body that you're so afraid to show, maybe? How did they turn you into the psychotic, abusive, perverse faggot that you are today?"

All color drained from Alfred's face until he was white as a sheet. White noise rushed his ears and he felt like he was suffocating, but not one word out of England's mouth eluded him. It was alarming to hear the words back at him, laying bare his deeds and everything he was because of it. When England finished Alfred simply stared at him, dazed but at the same time more grounded in reality than he'd ever been in a long time. The silence and stretch of time was unbearable, Alfred just staring at England with watery eyes. "What do you know about it?" he challenged softly. "You don't know anything about me." He wanted to say more but nothing came to him, and he only swallowed thickly.

England remained silent as the man thought about what to say. He could only assume that he'd shocked Alfred a little. Not that anything he'd said wasn't true. But the lack of sarcasm and pride in the man showed that he had been affected by what was said. The doctor was being defensive. He was getting to the other. His eye softened, and he smiled, kind compared to the hateful face he usually wore. "I know a lot about it. About what it's like for the ones you love to hurt you. What it's like to lash out at others because of it. What it's like to be scared of turning into the victim again," he explained, truthfully. "You should know that. ...and you're right. I barely know anything about you. Isn't it hard to keep it locked up, though? To know you didn't have a normal childhood like you deserved to? To live with the memories every day, and to have no one to share them with? To have no one who _understands_...? That could change." He paused, and slowly sat up. Then, he leaned forward, cautiously, as if he might scare Alfred, and wrapped the man in his arms. "I'm right here," he whispered in the other's ear. He paid no mind to the fact that he was still only in a towel and boxers. "...and you're cold, and your shirt is wet. Why not take it off and warm up? You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Of all the things, Alfred didn't expect it to turn out like this. Cold, wet, and hanging on a thread with England there holding him together. Besides his brother, he'd never been hugged before, not really, and the sensation was entirely foreign to him. He could not place any feeling to it, however, because he was totally numb. As it was, Alfred was stiff and unresponsive in England's arms, too numb to project outrage or shame or any emotion he could defend himself with.


	20. Confusion

He blinked into clarity when England asked him to undress, pulling away and frowning. "Not on your life." He sat back but didn't look entirely upset. "Enough of this. I brought you here to talk about Arthur."

England had held the other firmly, wondering what the man's reaction would be. He wanted to get something different than the way the doctor usually acted. This was a test. He frowned as the embrace was pulled away from, then sat back, his arms behind him on the floor for support. "That's a shame," he said. "Because the only way that will happen is if you share something interesting about yourself. Preferably your past. I get what I want, and you get what you want. I don't, and neither do you." He'd lost his sympathetic gaze and looked relatively bored now. Now that he wasn't recovering from being drowned, that is. His hair was still damp.

As manipulative as England was, he was always direct with his wants. It threw Alfred off but now that the antagonistic harmony resettled between them it was easier for him to think. It was obvious that England wasn't about to budge, and Alfred doubted any alternative- even forceful- would dissuade him. Finally Alfred scoffed, amused. England was so different, it surprised him sometimes. A game of quid pro quo was inconceivable with Arthur, the boy unable to take for himself, let alone challenge for it. Alfred's competitive nature emerged, and although the spike of nervous adrenaline coursed through his veins, he wasn't about to back down. "Fine, have it your way. But I go first."

England eyed him for around thirty seconds before shaking his head. "No. I want information worth knowing, and I don't trust you. You tell me something first so I can judge whether or not it's a good enough trade for the information that you want. I have no way of knowing that you'll tell me what I want to know afterwards, either. How do I know you're not lying? As I said, I don't trust you. Give me something good, and I'll give you all the details about what happened between them. If not, then too bad, and you don't get anything." He didn't sound as if he was going to give this up any time soon.

Exasperated, seemingly from the bottom of his lungs Alfred let free a put-upon sigh as if humoring a child. "Since you are _so_ interested," Alfred began, playing with a smirk. "I can't blame you; I am rather enthralling. I was born into the Jones family, a long line of successful doctors. I have a twin, though I don't see him very much. I graduated from the Kings College Medical School at the top of my class, naturally, and interned under the former head psychiatrist of this asylum when he had his own practice." Alfred shot him a coy grin, continuing on. "I am a Cancer, and I loved hamburgers when I visited the States, though I don't mind greasy foods like fish and chips. Though," Alfred frowned, remembering something he was careful to keep to himself. "I do like France, too. I was thinking of visiting there some day." It wouldn't do well if he mentioned the States, considering his fallback plans for when he left.

England was silent for a few moments before nodding, and leaning forward slightly. "Fine. I suppose that was enough... For now only, of course. The boy was on his football team. His name was Antonio. One day, he and Arthur were the only ones left in the locker room after football practice. Arthur had been walking to the door, and accidentally bumped into him, unaware that he had been there still. The books and papers the lad had been carrying fell to the floor, and Arthur quickly apologized, and made to pick them up for him. He noticed they were dirty magazines... With homosexual content. At first, he wasn't sure what to do, then Antonio got nervous and asked that Arthur not tell anyone. Arthur was quiet for a while before smiling. He asked something along the lines of, 'You like this, too...?' They talked for a while about what it was like to be different in this way. Before they left, Arthur asked Antonio if he wanted to be his boyfriend. The boy accepted. They didn't actually do much physically. They hugged, and even kissed a few times, but that was it. For the most part, they only talked. When they began getting too close, I frightened Antonio into leaving Arthur. Not only did he completely avoid Arthur, but he refused to tell him what he'd done wrong when he finally was able to confront him and ask. That was nearly two and a half years ago, though." The Englishman sighed. "Arthur was devastated." He smiled.

A smile played across the bow of Alfred lips. "He must have been devastated," he breathed a chuckle. He could imagine the scene through the rose glasses of first love unclouded by heartache, Arthur so giving and foolish because of it, and the consequential heartbreak that was always destined to follow. He wondered how Arthur handled it. Did he cry in his pillow at night? Did he drop out of football to avoid him? Alfred wondered this out loud, but didn't expect any answer, heedful of the game they were playing. So far Alfred hadn't given any of himself away- England, for all his confidence, perhaps didn't know where to ask which was fine by him. Alfred had a pleasant sing-song voice as he took his turn. "At fifteen I was sent to a college boarding school in Hampshire, where I immediately transferred to Cambridge for my undergrad studies. I was in sports recreation, but I was more for rugby myself. It was an invaluable experience and I met many good men." Alfred was definitely getting the tall end of the stick in this. It was England's turn, now, and by the wicked look on the doctor's face he was greatly anticipating the next answer. "Did Arthur ever _come_ during intercourse with the priest, or Mr. Kirkland's male friends?" He _was_ curious, but he also wanted to rile England up, too.

England went tense for a second at the question, then yawned a little. "Your information is getting dull, Alfred. I'll need something more than that before I answer that question. Would you like a question of your own to get started? I'll list off a few. Who was the first person to fuck you? Do you have any scars, and if so, how did you acquire them? Do you have a past history of abuse and abusing, and if so, who abused you, and who did you abuse? In what situation have you felt the most victimized? What are your greatest fears? There. There are a few to get you on the right track. Now, answer one of those, any one, and I'll answer your question. The detail of my answer will depend on the detail you provide in your own." He frowned, and looked away. "I just want to know more about you." He wasn't lying, either. He was genuinely curious.

"All right, then," he was beginning to get irritated. "I'll answer all your questions. In a row." He enjoyed skirting around the question like he did for a lot of things pushing his limits, but when faced head on he never ran. When he answered, he wasn't all that bothered, even sounded pleasant, having prepared himself for such an obvious question since the beginning. "My father took my innocence. I was seven, and there wasn't really a reason; I was just that cute." He doubted England would be satisfied with that, so he went on. "Truthfully, it wasn't unexpected. After father came back from the war, he changed. It was pathetic; he was a general surgeon, tucked away nicely away from the front, but when he returned it was like he turned into a monster. Anyway, when it happened I was sleeping in bed with my brother, and he made Mattie watch." Alfred's shrug was as nonchalant as his tone of voice. The past was over, so there was no use hanging on to it now. "I hope that was enough to answer _my_ question, England."

"Yes," England said, now fully tensed. "He did. A couple times. Some men tend to get off on that. The first time was with the priest when the man decided to be gentle with him. He hadn't wanted to. He didn't want to feel pleasure from it. But that time he was making sure that Arthur came, and calling him a pathetic whore. I have to confess, I lied to you about scaring the priest into leaving Arthur alone after the man was being rough. It was after he was being gentle. Arthur couldn't handle it. He'd never hated himself more than in that moment. The second time was when his father's closest friend took him for the first time." He paused, then looked at the ground with a blank expression, and his voice went nearly emotionless. "I wasn't going to tell you this, but considering the extent level of detail you've given me in answering your question, I feel as though it's only fair to tell you. After all, I am technically Arthur. We are only one person... I have, as well. I'm less inclined to tell you about those experiences, though," he explained, the reasoning behind his clenched jaw and tense posture revealed.

"But you're doing it anyway," he reminded. The amount of detail was enough to whisk Alfred off with his idle mind, and he imagined Arthur having those things done to him; much, much younger than he was now. His eyes refocused and stared at England, at Arthur's body, still wet and a practically see-through. England was disappointingly curled up from the cold but he looked younger like that. All he could think of, ogling up England, was how it was such a pity that he could not relieve the memory with Arthur when the "treatment" was abruptly cut short. "As for scars, yes, I have a few. But they're not from where you think." Alfred sighed. He really didn't want to go there. "They're not from anyone, in fact. They're all from games, like five finger fillet." He surveyed his hand as he spoke, pock-marked with new and old scars, one both sides of both hands. Perhaps because they were self-induced and he couldn't pin it to an outside source he was reticent to talk about it.

After a few moments of sitting in silence, England realized that they were getting nowhere. He suddenly became aware of the fact that his guard was down, and slightly afraid of not knowing when that had happened, his eyes narrowed at Alfred. The doctor was obviously getting more out of this than he himself was. Which was to be expected; Dr. Jones had read his files, after all. "Is that all you wanted me for, then? Are we done here?" He questioned, and then, before the other had a chance to respond, he stood and began walking away. The towel was still wrapped around his shoulders, and he paid no mind to his clothing that was left scattered on the floor. It wasn't as if there wasn't plenty of it to go around. He quickly made his way down the hallway, still slightly damp and shivering just a little still from the light draft in the corridors. He didn't care if Alfred was following him or not. He was more worried about himself, actually. He had been so distracted... It worried-even frightened (though, he'd never admit it)- him that he was becoming so infatuated with the doctor that he would risk giving out such personal information. He'd never told anyone those things before. Then again, he had never had a lengthy conversation with anyone aside from Jones. That was the one person who he didn't have the upper hand with. Who wasn't afraid of him... Who might be able to destroy him. ...and it terrified him. Yet, part of him was fascinated.

England's voice was just noise around Alfred's crowding thought as the doctor sat on the floor in his sopping clothes. He hardly paid him mind, pondering over things said and left unsaid, and wondering why he had even bought into England's stupid game to begin with. He knew what he was getting into, therefore it perplexed him ruminating that his motive wasn't to gain advantage over England (though he was certain he could benefit from it now), but was instead to disclose his past just to be heard. It was something he'd never done before, because if he ever opened up they were all lies with the means of ensnaring a person to use. Alfred never _talked_ about himself, much less of what his father did to him or the long journey of his life that made him into what he had become.

Deep in thought, England's departing words hardly registered to Alfred but the abrupt booming sound of the door slamming shut jolted his spine and Alfred immediately jumped to his feet and turning toward the door that England had just left through. Before he took after the boy he straightened his clothing- still drenched- as a last ditch effort to compose himself before following England out into the hallway.

The clipped echo of hastening footfalls caught up to England until Alfred fell in line behind, keeping an easy pace behind the young man. This continued a few moments, Alfred trailing England as one would a child under supervision lest he hurt himself. Alfred's smirk carried in his voice as he asked England bemusedly, "Are you making a getaway again?" Following the question Alfred's head suddenly poked into England's peripheral as he leaned in, eyebrows perked high in curiosity. His carefree, unaffected and somewhat playful demeanor was back, just like it'd always been before. "Where on Earth are you going?" No threat edged his question, he was simply humoring the man who was so determined to leave yet clearly had no place to go.

England was actually fairly surprised at how long it took the doctor to tail after him. He noticed when the man caught up to him, but choose to say nothing. Instead, he just trained his gaze forward until Alfred asked him where he was going. "Where the Hell do you think I'm going?" he questioned in response. "The only places I could possibly go are your office, the common room, or my own room. I don't feel like seeing any of the other patient's sickly sweet faces, and I'd rather not be in your company anymore." He paused, then smirked. "Maybe I should request a transfer to Ludwig."

In reality, his confidence was completely false. Really, he was just afraid. This had never happened to him before. He'd been perfectly capable of lying to Alfred. Even if the doctor would've known he was lying, it wouldn't have mattered that much. He didn't owe Jones anything. Besides... He didn't have to say everything he had. That wasn't even lying. Escape had crossed his mind for a few moments, but considering that he'd already tried with failed results, he was wary about trying it again. Without giving Alfred a chance to respond to his last statement, he stopped and spun around to face the other.

"I'm not stupid enough to try the same thing twice. Why would you want Arthur here, though? There are so many restrictions. Imagine what you two could do outside of this hospital. ...maybe escape is the answer. I don't understand why you'd be against it in the first place. There aren't many down sides to having him come live with you. And wouldn't that be fun?" He laughed a little. "It would be better for Arthur, too. He would be happier. There would be less chance of him getting sick. No more hospital food. Can you imagine that?" England placed his hand lightly on Alfred's chest, and leaned up towards the other's face with a playful smile. "All the alone time you could ever want for you and Arthur... And you and _me_. If you really wanted to, you could make sure it was only the three of us. You could cut him off from everyone..." he trailed off, before leaning up just a touch more in order to put his own lips against the corner of the other's. It was just a touch, though. It had no pressure behind it, so it was questionable for someone to be able to call it a kiss. He wasn't worried about getting caught... The hallways were empty at the moment.

The hint of a smile still graced Alfred's lips even as England took control to kiss him. He waited for England to stand back so he could see that smug look fall right off his face. "And that's what _you_ want, England." He finished. Alfred knew that England wouldn't suggest a pseudo-elopement if his feelings for the doctor didn't dovetail with Arthur's. England was supposed to _hate_ Alfred, so his actions would only make sense if he secretly felt the same for him as Arthur did. He didn't flaunt it, though. He only smiled benevolently, which he thought was suiting for his following rational, yet cruel, words.

"What makes you think I _want_ Arthur always with me, much less you? I come to work and Arthur is pleasant to see, but returning to my private life at home is just as satisfying. Now, don't think me unkind, but while you and Arthur wait for me every day, I have other important matters at hand." Alfred gently touched Arthur under his chin like a lover would, though his words were anything but gentle as he brought the point home. "Besides, you're not my only patient," he drawled suggestively.

England's jaw tensed, but he remained calm, with the same look of satisfaction on his face, which didn't seem to belong in the current situation. He cocked his head as the doctor finished speaking, and his eyes flicked over the man's features before his grin widened, and he began laughing softly. His voice got lower. "You're an idiot if you think for one second that I believe any of that shit that you're trying to spew. Maybe you're in denial of it, but I'm fairly sure that we both know that you need Arthur considerably more than he needs you. ...and I honestly couldn't care less who you're screwing. I wouldn't expect any less from a faggot whore like yourself. Arthur's never once had intercourse consensually, so if you plan on calling him no better, then you're sadly mistaken." He sighed, making a big show about shrugging and turning around. "If that _is_ the way you truly feel, though... I have no problem in taking him from you." His eye was dark. He shook his head with a small, bitter laugh. "...piece of shit."

Truthfully, he was more than a little hurt. However, unlike Arthur, he was able to hide his emotions well. He began walking again, not sure where he was going. Most likely to his own room. Not that it mattered much, considering Dr. Jones would probably follow him. Though... he had no problem in going through with his threat of a transfer if needed.

Alfred wasn't pleased at all with England's words- to hear he _needed_ Arthur, that's was simply preposterous- but he matched England's bragging mask with his own, guardedly neutral one, as they seemed to have reached an impasse with bluffs. Transferring services to Ludwig was ludicrous. Alfred knew it wasn't beyond England to sacrifice losing Alfred for a short victory if only it meant that he won. The repercussions on Arthur and England would be devastating, but even the victory surely would be hollow. Still he was tempted to call him out on it and truthfully, he_was_ getting tired of fetching him, having done it twice already. England next words for him, however, stopped him cold. As England turned away, Alfred wrenched England right back so that he was flailing backwards. Alfred used that unbalance to swing the boy around and crash face-first into the wall with a solid and satisfying thud. Alfred's hand held fast as he grinded the younger man's face against the harsh staccato. Resituating himself so that he was pressed hard against England using his weight and force of his body he seethed into England's ear. "_I'm_ the faggot whore, huh? How does it feel to be the bitch?" He accentuated the word with a cruel twist on his arm. Panting more from adrenaline than actual effort, he laughed in breathless bursts, hot breath damp on his neck as he continued. "I know you want me. Arthur wants me, but you're just afraid. I terrify you because your feelings for me are terrifying." Alfred hmmed musingly. "No wonder Arthur owns you; after all, you leave the difficult parts to Arthur."

England was surprised at the doctor's lost temper. He yelped slightly in surprise, then blinked as his vision went blurry for a moment as his face was smashed into the wall. He hissed in pain as his face was dragged across it. His grin had been lost when he'd been pushed against the wall, but the corner of his mouth twitched at the doctor's words. He was still, and made no sound as his arm was twisted. He was visibly tensed, but so far, that was the only sign of the pain he was in. As soon as the other finished speaking, the twitching at his mouth became a sick smile before he began laughing. He was panting roughly from the adrenaline rush, so his words came out as slightly strained. "I love how defensive you can be when you know I'm right. Instead of denying and moving on, or simply acting as though my words didn't bother you, you do something like this... You turned to getting physical, and instead of talking about yourself, you began trying to grasp at straws to point out my weak points. Your little temper tantrum only proved me right. Why else be so defensive?" He ignored the throbbing in his arm, face, and head. Really, he felt as though he might pass out at any moment. His head had finished healing from his self-inflicted injuries, but now the wounds were reopened. The stone of the wall felt slick with his own blood. He also ignored the nagging feeling he had that made him suspect some of what Dr. Jones had said was true. He only continued laughing lightly, unable to control himself despite the pain he was currently in. He wasn't used to dealing with heavy emotions.

England's words gave Alfred pause, all motion stilled as he seemed to be processing England's words, until a few beats passed and Alfred chuckled, amused but weary with something else. "I suppose we are alike in that way." He was about to say more before the warning sounds of footsteps advancing around the corner approached. Leaving the towel were it lay Alfred hastily bustled them into a closet closing the door behind him just seconds before someone -could have been anyone- came wandering by.

In the closet, janitorial supplies and material crowded around their tight space for two. Alfred could only guess the outsider was one of the wardens making his rounds. The shadow of the person's legs crossed into the sliver of light underneath the door as the person bent to pick up the towel Alfred left, no doubt wondering what it was doing there. Belatedly, Alfred realized that his hand was covering England's mouth and cautiously lowered it, gauging England's reaction as he did so. Muzzling England was useless with so many items in the room he could dislodge and expose their whereabouts. With only a slip of the foot a cascade of mops could come crashing down. Anxiety sweated his hands and he was wide-eyed with scattering thoughts during the tremulous moment with the warden just feet away from their exposure and a man who had every right to send Alfred to hell right then and there.

Alfred's other hand around his shoulder securing him snugly against his side turned companionable, sliding down England's youthful smooth arm to squeeze the sparse flesh of his tricep. "Now's your chance," Alfred whispered into the younger man's ear, disturbing the fine hair with the wind of his breath. "Go ahead," he beckoned. "Cry for help. They'll come for you." Peculiar that he was calling England's bluff at the worst time, almost like he _wanted_ to be caught. Hidden away guiltily, half-naked and weighted down with wet clothes, there was no room for interpretation for the situations that they were in. If they were found, it was enough for a police warrant to his office where inside were hundreds of foolishly-kept files literally documenting Dr. Jones' malicious efforts all the way back to the beginning of his transfer to head psychiatrist at the asylum. The ball was in England's court, and Alfred seemed to be giving that away, but not freely. Alfred was cashing in on his confidence of England's bluff, as well as testing the man's ultimate feelings by pitting Alfred's love against the freedom from that love.

England looked dazed as he was yanked into the closet. The injury on his head wasn't really fairing well, and the dizzy feeling he had increased with such quick movements. He was tensed, but obviously a little out of it. He blinked for a few seconds, shivering at the chill of the closet. It was interesting that the man was calling his bluff. "Ah, yes... But if I did that, then the game would be over. ...and that's simply no fun. You may annoy me, but you are incredibly entertaining. Aside from that... who said I wanted to rat you out today?" he whispered back. His head fell against Alfred's shoulder. He was still bleeding a little. "Oh... and you might want to take me to the infirmary."

At least England had a reason for not giving him away just yet. With his personality, it made sense that he would want someone who could keep up with him. Or rather... He could keep up with. He may have been in a very dangerous situation with Jones, but it was exciting, and that's what he wanted. This situation just reminded him that he should take caution, though. As much as he loved to play, Alfred wasn't a harmless puppy. Though, he might as well have been considering how interested the Englishman already was with him.

Alfred raised his eyebrows in interest to what England was saying, finally smirking decisively at his last words. England didn't want to turn him in "just yet". It needn't not be said that his chance just passed him and none would come in the future- if Alfred was careful. He chalked it up to stress from the move, but he really wasn't acting himself lately.

"You've had worse," he dismissed, making light on the bleeding. A thin line of blood from England's nose trickled in his mouth and even in the poor lighting he could see it on his tongue and teeth. Cupping his jawline forcing it upward Alfred kissed him fervently, adrenaline from the scare rushing back into a new excitement, riding on the high of lust transformed from the fright of capture. The exciting mix of blood and saliva tasted wonderful and he had to remind himself to control his breathing through his nose as the kiss endured. He pushed England backwards into the wall with his body, leaning into the boy using the full length to feel him up, not for the first time thinking how well their bodies fit together.

England couldn't really see anything very well in the closet. After all, he only had one working eye, and it was rather dark. So, he couldn't see the smirk on Alfred's lips. The taste of blood filled his mouth, giving him the slight urge to spit. He rolled his eyes as the other dismissed his injury, then blinked in surprise as he was kissed. His body tensed slightly. The wet clothing felt odd against his skin. He turned his head away to break free from the kiss. "It's true that I've had worse," he murmured. "You did just finish drowning me." He couldn't help the adrenaline rush he was feeling, or the increasing rate of his heart. He was nearly panting. Then again, he wasn't really used to this sort of treatment.

Alfred let him go with a little difficulty, licking the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip to clean up the blood. He wanted to continue, but it would be prudent not to test their luck a second time. The guard, or whoever it was, was bound to retrace their steps. "You should be fine then," he agreed, purposefully missing the point. Turning his ear to the door and waiting a few pregnant seconds, Alfred judge the coast clear and cracked the door open to peek out, then opening it completely. Mock-bowing for England to proceed him out into the hall, closing the door behind them after carelessly tossing the towel left in the hall into the closet.

Alfred then guided them back into the hydrotherapy room. "Get your clothes and things," he directed, already rolling down his sleeves and smoothing them out in some semblance of decency. His shirt was dry enough to pass under the radar and his significantly wetter pants were too dark to be noticeable, but poor Arthur's clothes were still in a wet heap on the floor.

England raised an eyebrow at the man as he stopped his actions, then shrugged it off. It wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend his time at the moment, anyway. He was just mildly curious as to why the other had stopped. Even if there was a risk to them getting caught, that had never stopped Jones before. When the doctor opened the door for him, he scoffed and shook his head. "...what a gentleman..." he muttered sarcastically. As if holding the door would make up for anything that had happened between them. Fucking in the janitor's closet of an asylum wasn't the most proper thing to do.

When they got back to the hydrotherapy room, England gathered what Arthur had on him when he'd entered with the doctor. He draped his clothing over his arm then went back to Alfred. "Are we finished, then?" he questioned, already looking emotionally exhausted from their time spent together so far. Dr. Jones was definitely the only one who could tire him that quickly.

Alfred looked at England over his shoulder, raising an inquiring brow without turning around. "Why are you asking permission now?" He finished the last buttons as the cuff and closed the remaining space between them to run his palm up England's arm over his shoulder, playing in the fringe of his hair at base of his neck. He wore a cheeky grin, barely there, easier at hiding his exhaustion than England. "Did you want me to continue?" Well aware he'd never get a straight answer Alfred was curious to read the answer on England's face. "I wonder if you get jealous of Arthur sometimes," he mused, clearly pleased with the notion.

England huffed softly. "Remind me not to ask next time, then," he mumbled. His face heated up a little as that sensitive part of his body was toyed with, but he only stared blankly, giving away nothing with his expression. He choose to say nothing, either, and instead turned around to walk out the door. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He walked quickly down the hallway, out of this particular wing of the hospital, and to his room until slamming the door shut. He didn't like this. He could feel himself becoming further entangled in Alfred's web as time passed. Getting flustered over that small interaction only proved it. ...what was happening to him?


	21. Sorrow

((Sorry I haven't updated in so long! We were stuck for a while on how to lead into the ending. There's a link in this chapter for a continuation.))

Shortly after that incident with Dr. Jones, Arthur took the reigns again. He woke in his bed, faintly remembering the doctor drowning him. He was naked, save for his boxers, and there was a chill in the room. He laid on his back in the hospital cot, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't know what to think anymore. He felt like the only thing he could trust was that he loved Alfred, and that the other cared about him, as well. It wasn't the man's fault he'd hurt Arthur. Of course. It was /never/ Alfred's fault in the Englishman's mind. It was clearly his other personality that was to blame. Alfred had said it himself.

How dare you assume that every bad thing that happens is my fault, he heard someone snap at him. The voice sounded strangely familiar. That doctor of yours is a fucking liar, and deep down, you know it.

With a start, he realized that these were thoughts he was hearing. His own thoughts, yes. Though, he wasn't the one thinking them. "What the Hell...?" he murmured. When he received no response, he calmed slightly.

This progressively got worse through the next few weeks. The voice got louder, and after the first few times of hearing the snapping remarks it made, he realized that it was his own voice that he was hearing in his mind. It was slightly different, especially in tone, and the way it talked. This must have been England speaking to him. He wasn't entirely sure why this was happening, though. He'd never spoken with the man before.

Things continued getting worse as days dripped by without a visit to Alfred. It got to the point where decisions had to be made concerning the other personality, as well. If the other was not regarded, he would scream in his mind until he was heard. It caused the poor Englishman constant headaches.

Arthur was in the common room, sitting at a table, and staring at his hands. It was a good thing Feliciano wasn't here. He might have been worried about the man's behavior. He was sitting there, twiddling his thumbs and murmuring to himself. England had been pestering him about visiting Alfred for the past week. While he desperately wanted to, he also didn't want to bother the doctor. It was getting ridiculous, though. Finally, he let out a short, "Fine." Then, he stood from the table, took a quick glance around for security guards, and leisurely walked out.

It was nice that he didn't run into anyone on the walk to Alfred's office. Though, as he stood in front of the door, he was still peeved about the constant burden that was England. He tapped lightly on the door with his knuckles. "Alfred...?"

Inside the office Dr. Jones was tidying up after another clandestine visit with Feliciano. When the blond doctor was away and when the urge hit him Jones arranged short visits with the Italian boy where Alfred enticed him into doing whatever he wanted with the promise of pasta. It wasn't incredibly wholesome sex, because while the boy was mentally a child in a developing teen's body, during the act he went comatose and entirely unresponsive no matter how rough he was. Ever since the debacle with England in the hydrotherapy room, Jones decided he was quite fed up with England's belligerence and cut him off. The "game" they played left Jones shaken and he was reticent to revisit either England or Arthur. If it was sex, Feli was an easier fix, and if the troubled young man was suffering because of it, so be it He wasn't running away. How could he be running away if England left first? That's how Alfred saw it.

Ever the perpetual child, Feliciano devoured his bolognese with voracity and weeped when it was all gone, as per usual. Jones, bored and preoccupied with his cigarette, was about to chastise him for eating too fast when he heard the knocking followed by Arthur's weak, tentative voice. A kickback of alarm quivered in his bones and he looked back at the door. Feliciano, for all his ignorance sensed the mood too, even if he didn't understand it. It would be disastrous if they were caught.

"Go back to the activity room, little Feli," Alfred directed calmly. (Feliciano, well-behaved like most patients, was privileged to go about the hospital without an attendant.) Prompted by the doctor's calm demeanor, Feliciano cheerily and obliviously greeted Arthur at the door. "Good morning, Arthur! Have you come to see Dr. Jones? Maybe he has some bolognese for you, too? But it is very bad with rum; I don't recommend it!" The boy's eyes gleamed like dull gloss. "Sorry to take up your time! Goodbye, doctor Jones!" Feliciano chirped bounding off, leaving Arthur and the doctor alone in the stale quiet of the office.

"What an idiot," Alfred breathed, questionably referring to either Feliciano or Arthur, finally lighting up a much-needed cigarette. He remained leaning against the front of the desk with his ankles crossed, leisurely smoking with a half tumbler of rum by his side. He was shamelessly disheveled, shirt bunched in a half-assed job tucking in his slacks, tie loose, and suspenders hanging at his sides. The sweat was only beginning to dry on his skin. Knowing it was Arthur, Alfred deliberately eschewed the attempt to straighten up, knowing how obvious it was what went on in the office not ten minutes earlier and using to his advantage. He _wanted_ Arthur to know, wanted him to _hurt_ because it was about time Arthur knew Alfred was in control, not Arthur or England or anyone else.

He spared Arthur not one glance; he didn't need to communicate how worthless Arthur felt to him. "What do you want, Arthur?" he projected annoyance tethered by mature patience. Honestly, he wasn't prepared to see Arthur again, because he _was_ England, and the near-catharsis he shared with England about his past left him reeling. That, compounded with stubbornness to curry England's attention again (he was still pissed about chasing after him twice), he had no qualm taking it out on Arthur.

Arthur and England took everything in. Briefly, Arthur remembered something. It was foggy, but he could have sworn that Alfred had said something about bedding Feliciano before. For a moment, he felt how the doctor wanted him to feel. He felt worthless, because Alfred was the only one who would ever love him, and right now, the man was upset with him, and having sex with someone else. Deep down, he felt something he hadn't before, though. Complete rage. It may have been the hateful things about Dr. Jones that England was screaming inside his mind, but this felt different than any other time the doctor had ignored him, or tried to make him feel horrible about himself. This is what compelled him to storm over to the man, taking note of his appearance, which only further infuriated him, pull him up by his shirt, and roughly kiss him. This lasted for a few moments, which could probably be chalked up as shock on Alfred's end. Then, Arthur pushed the other back roughly, causing him and his chair to topple over. He wiped his mouth, in what looked like almost disgust, making sure the doctor saw as he stood over him. Then, he walked over to the couch and sat down. He was panting, his adrenaline rushing. He crossed his arms, and leaned back, staring at the floor in front of him. He had a spark in his eyes that he'd lacked ever since coming to the asylum. Most likely, it was because the presence of his other personality.

Alfred went down hard from what felt like the force of two people. He knocked his head good on the bookshelf, Freud and Skinner tumbling on his head with Arthur towering triumphantly over his fallen form. His head smarted and the half bottle of spirits gave him vertigo, making him see double. The shock of the fall was nothing compared to the look on Arthur's face. It wasn't anything Arthur looked like, or should look like. He couldn't place it...

No longer feeling like he'd tip over, he took his time picking himself up, relying heavily on the desk. His composure gone, it was apparent how heavily inebriated he was. Miraculously, he still had his smoke, and he took a mediating drag. Pretending was pointless now. He probably couldn't, anyway, the alcohol stripping him the vestiges of any self-monitoring he had left these days. He took his time coming over to the boy so as not to stumble, sneering down at him. "So good of you to come," he said coldly.

Arthur looked up at the other with a struggled look. It was fine to catch the other off guard, but the part of Arthur that was still himself had a problem with trying to stare Alfred down. England murmured words of encouragement to him. He deserves it, he heard. Arthur's gaze went unfocused for a moment. "I know he does. That doesn't mean I have the will to do it," he mumbled back, looking dazed for only a moment. He looked back up at Alfred, the bite back in his gaze. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?" he barked out. "I'm not enough for you?" He looked down at his lap, his glare still present. "Don't look so damn upset. You got what you wanted. He told me that's what you're after."

"'He,'" Alfred repeated. And what the hell was Arthur doing talking to himself? "Oh. You mean England," he said at length, his brain catching up with him. "So which one of you decided to visit me?" He hadn't the patience to tease and ask if it was the both of them just to raise England's hackles. He didn't bother to answer Arthur's question, tapping out the ash on the floor because he couldn't be bothered to bring the ashtray with him.

Arthur grit his teeth. "Of course I mean England," he muttered. He sighed heavily and put his head in his hands. He looked more exhausted than angry. "England wanted to visit you. He's been bugging me for the past week about it. It's giving me headaches and he doesn't let me sleep if he doesn't get what he wants sometimes. I wanted to visit you, too, but I didn't want to bother you," he explained, spitting the last part out. "It seems like that wasn't too much of a fucking issue, though."

lfred snorted incredulously at Arthur's omission. That's rich. That England wanted to see him again after literally walking out on him after what he told him about his father. What a joke. He'd been having nightmares of it since, and neither stimulants to keep him from sleeping nor depressants to knock him out from his waking ruminations worked. He was so ashamed of himself for making himself vulnerable again. It was blatantly idiotic to let his obsessions take it so far. With a sociopath split personality, no less. He could only trust his brother.

"Get the fuck out. I don't want to see your twisted face." Arthur just being in front of him was too much.

Arthur started shaking. At first, it wasn't apparent why, but then small chuckles began coming from his lips. He still held his head in his hands, not looking like he was leaving anytime soon. "You really don't get it, do you? Why the fuck do you think he wanted to visit you in the first place? Why do you think I wanted to visit you in the first place? I care about you. I fucking love you. You are all I have. And England is a part of me. That means, as much as he hates to admit it, he cares about you, too. Yes, that's right, he genuinely loves you as much as I do. It seems you constantly fucking forget that we're the same God damned person. He's just too prideful to admit any of that. After you spoke with him, he was flustered, and confused, and afraid. You are the only one that could do that. Even for weeks after that he didn't bother me about seeing you. He told me not to see you. He seemed frightened." Arthur sighed. "...but maybe I'm giving him too much credit. Maybe he is too stupid to realize that what he feels is love and devotion. You think he asked any of those questions to you because he wanted to hurt you? In case you haven't notice, he's only acted in self defense against you since the first time you met him. He doesn't want to hurt you, as hard as that may be for you to understand. He wants to help you. He stopped what your discussion short because he didn't think you'd open up. He tried to help you, and you fucking shot him down." He looked up, with sorrow in his expression. "This time, it's not his fault. You're hurting yourself, Alfred."

Bright blue eyes widened at him as he realized England's voice wasn't the only thing Arthur acquired. The cigarette dropped from its delicate perch and fell to unnoticed to the ground. He covered his eyes and face with that hand, turning away as he began to chuckle. His laughter was more like hiccups in his chest and slightly maniacal. "Okay, okay." He clumsily waved Arthur off with the other hand, turning away completely for the glass on his desk. Dulled senses helped it down easily. He slammed the tumbler down as he slumped his weight against the desk, starting up the same laughter again. "I'm so damn tired," he said aloud. To Arthur, to no one. He was sure it fell on deaf ears either way.

Arthur stood with an irritated sigh. He picked up the cigarette and snuffed it into the ashtray on the man's desk. "You're going to burn this place down," he murmured. Though, for the first time in what felt like forever, there was no voice in his head. He could feel that England was still there, but he assumed he'd shocked his other personality into silence. Arthur went back to the couch after this and laid down on his side. He didn't plan on leaving yet. "Why are you laughing?" he questioned softly. He'd seemed to have calmed down from earlier. At least he'd gotten out what he'd wanted to say.

"And what about you?" he parried, back still facing Arthur. "So now you have England now to protect you from the bad guy. How sweet of him. He'll keep you company when I go." The last part he slipped out unknowingly, too involved with the bottle to monitor his words. He turned around, frowning at Arthur who was practically nesting on his couch. He wanted to push it out of his thoughts how tempting Arthur looked but it was hard when his shirt was riding up like that.

Arthur felt himself grow agitated again. "Did you hear anything I just said!?" he shouted. "I just told you that we love you. That you're all we have left. I never said I saw you as the bad guy! He's still the one who murdered my family! You're not the one who killed my loved ones. You're not the one who stole my innocence as a child. You're not the one who beat the shit out of me with a belt, or threw me down the stairs. Yes, I realize you've done bad things to me. I understand that you aren't the greatest influence in the world. I don't care if you hit me. I don't care if you take advantage of me. You're all I have," he finished. His eyes were wet with tears. He wished that he could make Alfred understand. "I, Arthur Kirkland, and my second personality, England, are in love with you, Alfred Jones." A few tears slid down his face. He paused, only now registering in his mind what Jones had said. "...what do you mean 'when you go?'"

"Arthur..." he began, feeling unsure. Though he was still trapped in his own fixations that hardly let him yield to Arthur's contrary, heartfelt words of love, still he did listen. It was incredible, how much power he ruled over the boy. Still, when Arthur /knew/ what Alfred did, and continued doing to him. England, too. He didn't know what to say, so he settled on sitting next to Arthur with his drink, sipping more sedately. "Don't worry your pretty head over it," he answered, fluttering his fingers through his messy mop of hair. To seal the promise he kissed him firmly on the mouth, closing off any further discussion on the matter.

Arthur felt anxious. He was worried, now. Alfred seemed to understand, at least to an extent, how he felt, though. So when the other told him not to worry, he tried not to. It didn't work. He shifted so his head was sitting on the doctor's lap. The hand in his hair relaxed him slightly, and he was able to calm down for the time being. That didn't mean he wasn't worrying. "...please don't leave me..." he whispered. "...I would kill myself, and I don't think England would object," he finished quietly.

"You just worry about you." He ran his fingers in Arthur's scalp soothingly, enjoying the atmosphere now that he was the one looking down and Arthur looking up needfully at him. He petted Arthur for a long moment. "Talk to England. Find some peace between the two of you that you can co-exist." Arthur's dilemma with England constantly intruding on his thoughts were concerning, and not just because of his brazen attitude with Alfred. Alfred knew Arthur would never have pushed him if England wasn't there, but it wasn't nearly as bad as what could happen if England monopolized his entire conscious. "If you two don't come to an agreement of who rules in your body, he will do things you won't like, and you won't be able to stop him." Such a shame; he was still so in love with Arthur's crying face.

"England, are you ready to profess your feelings for me?" Alfred gained his smirk back. It was risky to chance England going on the defense again, but his following words softened it. "...because I'm ready to tell you, too." Arthur was so light it took only one arm to bring him up to his face. Alfred thoroughly kissed him, not too deep as to disturb his breathing pattern in his near hypnotic state, but far from chaste. He ran his tongue over the slick row of Arthur's straight teeth before pulling back.

Arthur tensed at the question, but relaxed at what the other said next. That might have been England's reaction. He was slightly surprised as he was pulled up, and his eyes went half lidded as he was kissed. His breathing was uneven now, and his heart was hammering. England certainly hadn't expected that. He stared down as Alfred pulled back. It was rare to see him in such a state. His guard was down for Alfred, though. "I don't like feeling like this," he murmured. Of course, he didn't mean that he didn't like loving Alfred. he mean he didn't like feeling so vulnerable. He was supposed to be the strong one. He was supposed to be the prideful one.

With the boy held halfway up around the back of his shoulders, Alfred squeezed Arthur's arm appreciatively in response, pleased by England's confession. "Put your pride aside and accept me." His words were cocky, but his voice was so warm, and he was so welcoming, even though behind those smiling eyes he was designing his new conquest. Breaking England required a whole new strategy, but Alfred knew he could do it because England and Arthur were the same person, and they both loved him. England opening himself to weakness was a doorway into breaking his heart, an opportunity he anticipated many times in the future. Alfred didn't think about what would happen to him within the next few days, but focused on the now. If he could make England submit before him, it was success enough for him today.

England smiled nervously. He wanted to trust Alfred. He really, really did. More than anything. He'd never trusted anyone, though. It would be hard, but considering this was all he and Arthur had, he supposed he could give it a shot. He nodded, slowly. Then, he kept his gaze trained down. "I love you," he said softly. It was a strange thing to hear out loud. In ways, it was hard to tell him apart from Arthur, now. He still had the hateful look in his eyes, but it was clouded by confusion and adoration. It looked more as if he hated the world than anything.

"You've been put through so much. You've been very brave." Alfred petted his fringe away, clearing all obscurity from his face so both sides, the clear and the scarred, were shown. "Still, I feel a little insecure," he admitted, though he wasn't insecure at all. "How do I know you won't go back on your word? Will you leave me again?" Alfred spoke out loud, forlornly to himself rather than at England, yet the crestfallen note in his voice carried. He wanted to goad England into prove himself tactically, something physical he could see and could not be rescinded on.

"You've been put through so much. You've been very brave." Alfred petted his fringe away, clearing all obscurity from his face so both sides, the clear and the scarred, were shown. "Still, I feel a little insecure," he admitted, though he wasn't insecure at all. "How do I know you won't go back on your word? Will you leave me again?" Alfred spoke out loud, forlornly to himself rather than at England, yet the crestfallen note in his voice carried. He wanted to goad England into prove himself tactically, something physical he could see and could not be rescinded on.

England looked subdued enough. The words made his heart ache in self pity. He tensed at the doctor's next words. "I won't leave you again," he murmured, his gaze going back down. "What do you want me to do to prove it?" he questioned softly, his heart still beating heavily. "I-I'll do whatever you'd like me to." It was so, incredibly hard not to fall into Dr. Jones' trap. It wasn't a surprise that England could last no longer.

Alfred wondered if England's wavering hubris coincided with Arthur's driven will to influence him. It would make sense if England had so much sway over Arthur's actions. "Hmmm..." he made a little show of thinking, remaining outwardly subdued though his heart racketed in his chest. England's proof of love needed to be both humbling and require full participation in; it wouldn't do to have him passively bound and gagged. England needed to remember that he brought this on himself, and it was the punishment for his actions against Alfred. Alfred was enjoying England's growing anxiety as he happily peered down on him while deliberating. "All right, then. Since you asked. Ride me."

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((England does as Alfred asks, but has a bad flashback of a time when he/Arthur was raped as a child by his father's friend, and gets gets sick.))

He was disappointed that they couldn't finish; he so very wanted to revisit England's flashback as a fantasy. He felt shortchanged from last time, and this time again. He couldn't resent him for it. Arthur could fuck while crying, but he obviously couldn't do anything while throwing up.

England was grateful when Alfred carefully put the waste bin in front of him. Tears were still streaming down his face, and he gagged violently until his dinner from earlier was lost. Even after that, he continued gagging, throwing up stomach acid and causing his throat to burn horribly. The hand at his back was nice and comforting, at least. When he was finished, he was kneeling with his arms and head resting on top of the wastebasket. He was a little light headed from the gagging, and small red dots had appeared on his face from lack of oxygen from when he'd been gagging and throwing up. He spit a few times into the trash, then swallowed, wishing that the taste in his throat and the burn would go away. "I got sick then, too," he murmured. "It was my father's bed, and when he found out, he beat me with the dog's chain. He broke my arm." Even as England and Arthur remembered this, they took comfort in knowing that Alfred was taking the time to comfort him after getting sick rather than beating him.

Alfred wordlessly handed him the tumbler with the last mouthful of rum. He had nothing else. He sat comfortably crossed-legged next to the boy, unperturbed by the wastebasket. "What happened to that man?" Alfred asked with a hand on his cheek and elbow propped on his knee. "He must have been an outwardly outstanding man, just like your father. Well," a humorless chuckle, "we both know how that is." After a long silence with England catching his bearing and Alfred thinking into oblivion, he finally spoke up. "I believe we are even, now," he grinned. Yes, England's continued devotion, seeking comfort in the man who hurt him and had no plans to stop, Alfred was feeling secure in their relationship. If England would not leave him for this, there was little else he would abandon him for.

"I have more... paperwork tonight, so you can rest on the couch so as long as you promise not to barf on it," he teased.

England took the rum without a word of complaint. It certainly didn't help the burn in his throat, but it got rid of some of the horrid taste. He simply nodded at the statement that they were even. He didn't feel like pushing the issue or arguing with Alfred, and it wasn't as if he really disagreed. He curled up on the couch, feeling worn and exhausted from the night's stressful events. He fell asleep within a matter of minutes, the forgotten tumbler clutched lightly in his hand. Even though it may not have been the most that the doctor could have done, England was surprised that the man had offered his last swig of precious alcohol to him in order to sooth him. He'd fallen asleep to that thought.


	22. Change

Alfred rested Arthur's head on his lap facing towards him, Arthur curled up around him in the fetal and his knees against Alfred's hip. He held him there for hours, thinking as he watched his naked body as he slept.

It was irreparable, what he did to him. That was certain. He was also certain Arthur would never completely get over him if he ever get back his life and moved on. No matter what betterment he made in his life, Alfred would always stalk his thoughts, haunt his dreams. He needed to be more than a memory. A ghost that never went away or gave him respite. Inside of Arthur's head would remain Alfred's legacy. Alfred... needed that.

Alfred had a few thoughts about the border between Arthur and England. It was dissolving, and what also faded was England's archetypal role of the guardian. Looking back on it now, Alfred should have seen it coming. Arthur was making aggressive decisions on his own for months. How could it not have affected England? Alfred could go as far as to consider it a factor into England's opening up for Alfred. Arthur and England were becoming one, sharing actions, thoughts, _memories_, and finally after this morning both of them literally pledged themselves to Alfred. Alfred was moved and not just on behalf of a victor. Alfred spent hours, just like that, Arthur sound asleep on his lap and blissfully ignorant of what was to come.

Then he went to work. Alfred cleared the rest the day's appointments once again. This repeat flagrancy was ridiculous, but he didn't care. He also contacted security informing them of Arthur's whereabouts, who hadn't even noticed Arthur was gone. The wastebasket was cleared and the general mess controlled with only his important documents strewed across the desk, stack after stack, as he busied around his office to collect all the materials he needed.

Arthur woke as himself after what was nearly a night's worth of sleep. He sat up quietly and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He was shivering slightly, his clothing still strewn across the ground of Alfred's office. He looked over to see the other busy with something else, and decided not to bother him. He soundlessly slipped his clothes back on before heading over to the desk messy with papers and documents. More than usual. His head cocked to the side a little as he attempted to read a sideways paper. "U.S. Census Bureau..." he said softly, and his brows knitted together in confusion. "Alfred...?" he questioned. "What's this for?"

Alfred halted in front of the safe, back stiffening at Arthur's words. Then, slowly closing the empty safe he turned around to face Arthur. His legs swiftly ate up the pace between them, and he slammed his hand over the certificate, startling Arthur. "Nothing you can't live without snooping around," his words underscored by the harsh voice, fixing Arthur in his gaze. He moved away, edging around the desk to reach his bookshelf for the books he sequestered money bills into effectively neglecting Arthur and his question.

Arthur flinched hard when Alfred slammed his hand on the desk, expecting to be hit. He looked at the floor, feeling guilty in the way that only Dr. Jones could make him feel. He slunk back to the couch quietly, looking neglected, disappointed, and a little heart broken. He'd been under the false presumption that Alfred trusted him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. He paused for a moment, not wanting to say the next words, but wanting to give the other the option. "I can leave if you want me to." The reason he hadn't come earlier was because he hadn't wanted to bother the doctor. Now it seemed as if he was doing just that.

He didn't want Arthur to go. He knew the boy wouldn't leave unless he told him to, so he said nothing. The shuffling of papers filled the vacuum of silence between them. After a while, Alfred finally told him. Alfred's hands were planted on his desk as he leaned forward and spelled it out to him. "Arthur, I'm leaving. I _have_ to go."

Arthur sat there, anxiety eating away at him. Why would Alfred have those papers in the first place? Hadn't he said something about leaving before? When the other finally said it, the Brit's eyes went wide, and his head snapped up to look at Alfred. "W-What...?" he stuttered out, his eyes already watering. He could already feel pains in his chest. His breathing became uneven as he began to panic. "Y-You s-said not t-to worry," he said quickly. "Y-You can't l-leave m-me..." He was looking at the doctor with desperate, pleading eyes.

Alfred snorted. "I said a lot of things. It was all a ruse to trap you, you know." He quirked an eyebrow behind limp bangs, measuring the weight of the hurt on Arthur's face. Hunched over with the desk light casting a jaundice look to his features, his smile grew crueler, if that was even possible. "Everything I said was to make you fall in love with me. I played you like a violin, Mr. Kirkland." The denigration to Arthur's old formal name was another slap in the face.

He slapped a thick file, voluminous as a dictionary, over the mess of papers. Three reels of audio tape soon stacked on top of it. They were Arthur's records. "This is the material you need to present to the courts for a retrial. In them diagnoses your mental afflictions and testimonial proof that you did not intentionally kill your family and housekeeper." There were transcribed conversations with England under hypnosis, probable cause for self-defense against his father. The audio recordings of Alfred raping and sodomizing Arthur and England would not doubt pull the jury's heartstrings into pitying him. On top of Alfred's desk was everything Arthur needed to escape the asylum. It was Arthur's freedom.

Arthur broke. He felt numb. After a long silence, and him staring at the ground with a blank expression, he finally spoke. "It's all right," he said, very softly. "I don't deserve your love. I never did..." He didn't care about his freedom. It was a lost cause now. He could never return to normal life again. He didn't have a house, or family, or friends, or money, or a job, or a place to stay, or even a good education. All he had was Alfred. He'd rather be trapped in the asylum with him than anything else. Even the words that the man said couldn't make the Englishman hate him. England was quiet. He didn't feel any rage from his other personality, either. "...just give me the gun in your drawer so I can get this over with..." he murmured, fully intent on killing himself now that the doctor was leaving him. "England and I have nothing to live for anymore."

"How easily you give up." Alfred sneered at him, disgusted. Suddenly the drawer slammed shut with a thunderous crack and Alfred was towering right above Arthur in moments. The muzzle of the gun forced Arthur's head back so he was both staring right at the trigger and Alfred's enraged face above him. "Is this how you decide to end it?! You're going to lie down like a fucking dog and die?! You're not even going to fight for me?!" Alfred was right on top of him now, straddling over him and forcing Arthur back against the couch. A brilliant, maniacal shine played behind his smile as he caged Arthur in with his body. "Do you feel so brave now that the gun is to your head?" Alfred's finger rested over the trigger guard.

Arthur stared blankly at Alfred as the gun was pushed against his head. It was obvious he was serious about this. He was relaxed now, having fully given up already. He smiled weakly. Tears were streaming down his face. "I already told you," he started quietly, his voice hoarse. "...I don't deserve you. It's obvious that you don't want me..." he paused, his eyes shining with tears. "...and what matters most to me is that you're happy. If I can't make you happy, then I deserve this. Go ahead and pull the trigger, Alfred."

He wanted to pull the trigger. God, how he wanted to. Arthur sickened him. Never was he so acutely aware of how frighteningly close he could have ended up as another victim than when he looked into Arthur's eyes. From the moment he set eyes on the boy he knew, and he had to control the fate he was doomed to ever since his father took his innocence in his bed. Alfred would have felt wonderful to know he had the power to make another person break if it didn't mean Arthur had abandoned him, too. He couldn't possibly tell Arthur how he felt about him. In the end, everything from the beginning by what he said about protecting Arthur and loving him culminated into the truth now. He hated Arthur for not understanding. Alfred just stared into his crying face, so resigned to death so long as it made his lover happy.

"...heh." Alfred swayed limply as he climbed off the couch, gun lowered as he dropped his arm. He shoved the gun in the front of his pants, not trusting Arthur with his back turned as he collected his papers into stacks and dropped them into his briefcase. He wanted to shoot Arthur, but he didn't want Arthur to die. "Talk to England. He'll slap some sense into you." He meant the file.

Arthur laughed a little. "You should have pulled the trigger," he said. His voice was different, though. It was England. "What else do you expect?" his persona questioned. "You make us dependent on you completely, you make us fall in love with you, and you leave. I suppose I should have known that this was a game. But when you love someone, you put their life and happiness before yours. ...that's why I know what you said is true. That this was a game to you. Because if you loved us, you'd never say something like that to hurt us," he explained. His face was softer than ever now. "I still love you." England was in as much pain as Arthur, but he didn't care, he felt the same way as the other did now. Had Alfred forgotten that they were becoming one personality? "...and I'll still love you in death. We simply have nothing else to live for, Alfred. If fighting for you would cause you to be unhappy, then it isn't worth it. You forget that the message you've drilled into our head is to blindly do what it takes in order to make you happy. Well, this is it, Dr. Jones. This is what you wanted, and this is what you've created, now, and forever. Even in death."

Alfred whirled on him to throw the glass at England's face, and the glass shattered as it hit the wall. "Don't you _fucking_ tell me what love is supposed to be like! Love isn't _anything_ like it is in literature. Love is feeding on neuro-chemicals in your brain. It has nothing to do with how you show it. Don't you fucking tell me how I should love you and Arthur, England!" Hands were twisted cruelly in England's collar as Alfred bowed his head, panting. His face was obscured, and he leaned into his hold on England's collar as he slumped in on himself further. "Don't make me spell it out for you," he pleaded softly.

England couldn't help but jump a little when the glass crashed against the wall and broke. Luckily, nothing hit him. His breath hitched as the other spoke, not sure of what to make of it. Carefully, slowly, he wrapped his arms around the man who was holding his shirt. "Love is a difficult emotion," he said. "It's not surprising that some people don't know how to show it." He said the words before he really knew what he was saying. He hid his face in the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he muttered, and this time, it was Arthur's voice. "...please just bring me with you..." He was shaking. The numbness from earlier was gone, and it was replaced with crippling, raw, emotion.

Alfred released a long, quivering breath he'd been holding. He held Arthur strong in a hug so that Arthur couldn't shake any longer. Relief flooded his veins, loosening his muscles. He needed some preparation beforehand, but he knew he could` pull it off by tomorrow when the ship set sail.

Taking Arthur's and England's wrist and turning towards his mouth, Alfred pressed a kiss into the palm of his hand. "Then," he spoke into his pulse, "let's do that."

The End


End file.
